


Unresolved

by KaiQuinn



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Kissing, Rebuilding, Romance, Sexual Tension, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:42:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29346069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaiQuinn/pseuds/KaiQuinn
Summary: Five years after the end of Season 2, upon learning that Omera and Winta are in danger, Din and Grogu leave their duties behind to help them. When brought together, Din and Omera have to face the tension they sparked years ago that has burned subtly beneath the surface since. After years on their own, each have a lot of unresolved feelings and tension to work through while all involved try to figure out where they belong, and what sort of life they want to live.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Omera
Comments: 55
Kudos: 43





	1. Prologue/Return of the Foundling

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! I used to write fanfiction, but haven’t done so for a while, and also have never written for this fandom, but I couldn't help myself. I lean heavily into the idea that Grogu’s species ages differently. I know there are a lot of amazing stories on this site, so I hope this one is worth a read (and that I’m not too out of practice!)
> 
> Obviously, I don't own anything.

**— _Prologue_ —**

_Grogu sits quietly, away from the others. There’s something, an unpleasant disturbance, that has made it difficult to pay attention to his training. The moment he has a chance, he steps away from the others and finds a quiet spot. He stills beneath a tree whose leaves rustle in the breeze, and his eyes drift closed. He finds himself calm, at peace, as he’s been trained. And the moment he finds that calm, it’s disrupted by the sounds of screaming. In his vision, a young woman, begging her mother for help, has tears streaming down her face. He can practically feel the pain of the mother as she’s struck down, and he watches as her consciousness slips away and the vision fades into darkness._

* * *

**—Part 1: Return of the Foundling—**

Din Djarin has a reputation in certain circles as a problem solver, an unrelenting fighter, the kind of man one calls when there’s a really big problem. He prefers these tasks and jobs to those set upon him by his claiming of the Darksaber. It’s proven to be very difficult to get rid of. Not that people don’t challenge him for it...they do. He’s been attacked more than a few times by those who want the saber, but it’s always the wrong people. Those he _wants_ to challenge him for it refuse to do so. 

In fact, he has just helped to solve a problem that had a very lucrative reward, even if it ended with an ambush that came a little too close to ending badly. His body aches and he's beyond tired, but he's taking some of his earnings to a still-hidden covert he's heard rumors of, and hopes to rest there.

While he’s calculating the jump to hyperspace, he receives a transmission. Din stalls, momentarily stunned when he sees the hologram of Grogu appear before his eyes. It’s hard to tell if he’s grown much by looking at a holo, but he speaks carefully, “Beg you I must. Come, Father.” Coordinates are attached to the message, easily downloaded. 

There isn’t even a moment of hesitation, or any sort of question about what he must do. Din will go, he’s already making nav adjustments. It seems an odd coincidence, how close this place is to where he is right now, almost like Grogu knew exactly where to find him. 

He feels a strange mix of love for the Child, excitement at the thought of seeing him after five long years, and protectiveness and concern as he worries about what sort of danger Grogu is in. He wonders if he should have stayed close by, although he isn’t even certain the Jedi would have let him know where they train. He silently reminds himself that he’s found far more hidden things over the years.

In a short time, he lands on a dark, damp planet without any sort of base or proper place to dock, finding another, rather unique looking ship waiting. This planet is certainly desolate. Din stops at his weapons station, making sure he has all he needs in case this is some sort of trap. Of course he’s _always_ ready for a trap.

He’s not even down the ramp when he hears a loud voice saying, “You’ve got to be kidding me! One of _them?”_

If these attackers intend an ambush, they aren’t very good at secrecy. His eyes find a man leaning against a tall, vine covered tree with a Wookie protectively close. Grogu is nowhere to be found. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he senses movement that he turns quickly toward, putting his hand nearer his blaster, prompting the man and the Wookie to do the same. Little Grogu, who in memory was slow and toddling, moves with surprising agility compared to years ago, launching himself toward Din. “Father,” he says with a small voice. Different species really do age differently, and training seems to have made quite an impact. 

Din drops to a knee, picking up the child, never ignoring for a second the potential danger near him. “You okay, you little womp rat?” he asks, keeping tabs on the grumbling man and his companion.

“No danger they pose,” Grogu says, his ears quivering as he shakes his head.

The man steps forward, clearly distrusting, and says to Grogu, “You sure you know what you’re dealing with? This is the guy you trust to—”

“Have we met before?” Din interrupts, standing, wondering if the man takes issue with him, or with Mandalorians in general. 

A woman emerges from the ship, maybe a politician, maybe a representative of the Jedi, and neither thought puts Din at ease. “You’ll have to excuse my husband,” she says, “he was at one point a bounty who spent some time in carbonite, captured by someone like you. Probably wasn't the most pleasant experience.” She extends her hand and introduces herself, “Leia Organa. Grogu trusts you, so I do as well.” She casts a 'stand down' look at the man and Wookie that they both somewhat unhappily heed.

Din puts Grogu down next to him and accepts the handshake. He may avoid Galactic politics whenever possible, but he’s heard enough to know that name. “What’s going on?” he asks Grogu.

“Your little friend stowed away on our ship,” she explains. “He’s... resourceful.”

“You left the Jedi?” Din asks him, disappointed.

“Master Luke isn’t going to like it,” she adds, folding her arms and looking at the child.

Grogu argues, speaking slowly and carefully, but not at all concerned with the woman’s status, “Left training for his friends, when suited him it did.”

“Well—”

“Lucky you are he did, mmm, lucky.”

She smiles uncomfortably, “He’s particularly good at tuning in to what people are thinking.”

Din points a finger at Grogu and orders, “Stay out of my head.”

Grogu chuckles, his shoulders shaking as he does, and Din is grateful for his helmet as he smiles widely when he hears it. But there are pressing matters at hand, and the levity suddenly leaves Grogu’s face when he says, “Danger. Much danger. Need us they do.”

“Who?”

“Friends. Winta. Omera.”

Din won’t pretend he doesn’t remember them. “You spoke to them?”

Talking seems particularly tiresome for Grogu, so Leia steps in and says, “From what he’s shared with me, his friends were attacked on their home planet. The daughter and some of her friends were taken. Her mother is trying to find her—”

“Taken? By who?” Din asks, worry rising.

“He doesn’t know for certain who or why. Although I’ve heard a few reports of attacks in that sector, it’s being investigated. Some believe for the purposes of forced labor.”

“How do you know all this?” Din asks Grogu.

She responds, “He's seen images. Flashes. He’s...very sensitive to the Force. You should trust his instincts.”

“Okay. So you don’t know who. What about where?”

Grogu answers, “Take you to them.”

Leia asks Grogu, “Are you certain it’s not a trap?” It’s not a ridiculous thought, both because of Grogu’s powers, and Din’s Darksaber, although he doubts anyone planning a trap would really know how important Omera and Winta are to his clan.

Grogu sighs. “Trap yes or trap no. Matters not.”

Din replies, “He’s right. Tell me where they are. I’ll take care of it.”

“Show you.”

“You go back to the Jedi. I’ll take care of this. Stay where you're safe.”

“Help you.”

“Look,” Leia says to Din, “this guy went through a lot of trouble to get to you. And even if I force him to go back to Luke, I’m pretty sure he’ll find a way back to you again. And he may do it in far more dangerous ways than stowing away on our ship.”

Din sighs, and grumbles, “Ehh—”

“I think you may be surprised just how capable he is of protecting himself. And others. And perhaps we could help,” she turns to suggest to her companions.

Her husband loudly argues, “Hell no. Where you go, I go, and you have someplace you need to be, so I have some place I need to be.”

The Wookie howls his assent. 

She shrugs, “I can send help.”

“I prefer to do this on my own,” Din adds.

“Hurry,” Grogu urges.

“If I take you, you have to be careful,” Din sternly orders his Foundling.

“Yes.”

“When they’re safe, I'll return you for training.”

“Mmm,” Grogu grumbles, leaving Din to wonder what on earth his Foundling is thinking. 

“You have to listen to me. No running off.”

“Obey you, yes,” Grogu responds impatiently. 

“Okay.”

Din braces himself when the Wookie hurries over, picking up the Child and hugging him with surprising fervor. The Wookie yells something in his language, and Grogu seems to share the same feeling of warmth, his small fingers stroking the thick brown fur. 

Leia says, “I’ll tell our channels to be on the lookout for you.”

"Can we keep this quiet?” Din says, knowing that it’s meant to be supportive, but greatly disliking the thought of being on anyone's radar.

“Sure,” she agrees with a chuckle at his stubbornness. She looks at the Child and says, “I’ll talk to Master Luke for you. Good luck with your friends."

"Thank you for keeping him safe," Din says. 

She nods her head. "May the Force be with you.”

“Also you,” Grogu replies. 

* * *

Din doesn’t waste time once on the ship. He programs in the destination Grogu gives him and jumps to hyperspace. Then he turns to study his Foundling. “How’s training?”

Grogu sighs, sounding in some way like his father as he does. He reaches over from his chair, leaning on Din’s shoulder. “Talk to me still, from behind this?” and taps the helmet with his finger.

Din sighs back in return, taking it off and nodding. “I still wear it. The creed and...” he trails off, uncertain how to explain all that’s happened in the last five years.

Grogu returns to his seat and studies him, looking like he’s about to say something very profound. Finally, with the utmost sobriety, he says, “My good looks...come from you not.” Then he giggles in that same chest shaking, ear-twitching way.

Din smiles and jokes, “Five years apart, and this is how you talk to me?” But he still sees Grogu’s sadness and worry in spite of his attempts to suppress his feelings. Grogu is small, but he is strong, and his father feels a swell of pride. 

Din asks, “How much do you remember of our time together?”

“All. Memories long before you.”

“So...Training? How is it?”

“Fine, yes,” Grogu replies shortly.

“Are you sure?”

“Can think of Winta only. Her cries. Her mother’s pain. Help them first.”

“We’ll find them,” Din assures. “And we’ll find whoever did this to them. Why take a child like her?”

“Not much of a child is Winta.”

“Yea. That’s right,” Din says with a flickered smile as he remembers Grogu playing with the girl long before he knew the Child’s name. Hoping to keep Grogu focused on something else as they travel, Din says, “I have something for you before we get there.”

He takes his son below deck, and from his new weapons storage, he pulls out a flexible material covered in plates of overlapping beskar. The plates are small, so the piece bends and can conform to various shapes while allowing movement. He pulls the apparatus over his head, like a pack on his back. “See, you can sit here,” Din explains, then pulls it over to his side, “or here.” He picks up his son, who has in the last years only grown a little in stature. 

“Mmm,” Grogu hums approvingly. He taps the metal with his fingernail. “Beskar?”

Din takes him from the pack and puts him on the ground, kneeling, showing Grogu how it can also be fastened, clipped and worn in various ways. "I wasn't sure how much you'd grow, so it's customizable.”

"Can give this to me?"

“We pass down our armor. I had this made for you from some of my beskar. I know you’re a Jedi now, but—”

“Not yet a Jedi.”

“Either way, you’re part of my clan,” Din responds, attempting to sound dutiful, but his fondness shows. He clears his throat and continues more officially, “We can have it recast into anything you’d like when you’ve outgrown this...a Jedi shield or...whatever they use.”

Grogu closes his eyes and bows his head in gratitude. 

Din sees a strike of worry on the Child’s face, something so painful that he has to reach out to steady himself. Din asks, “Do you...feel something?”

“Tries to buy passage, Omera does. To save Winta.”

“Not a good idea?”

Grogu shakes his head, alarm obvious in his eyes. 

Din checks the navicomputer and says, “Won’t be long.” 

* * *

Din is more than a little amazed by Grogu’s abilities, by the way his son disconnects, makes himself one with the energy around him, and then finds exactly where Omera is. The Child scans charts and points more specifically to the exact place, nodding his certainty. Din doesn’t hesitate to go to that point. After all, he has no other way to quickly find her, since it doesn’t sound like he has time to hunt her down as he usually would. Grogu would make an incredible partner for a bounty hunter. 

They land on a largely rocky moon, a place with a small base set up in a once abandoned outpost for fueling and trade. Din has seen places like this before, where a lot of nefarious sorts conduct their business, moving locations to try to avoid detection. If Omera is here, he agrees it’s not a good place for her. It’s not a good place for any of them.

Din fastens the armored pack he had made for Grogu on his back (since his Foundling’s legs are still short and he doesn’t want to risk being separated), lifting the child and putting him in place. It feels ridiculously good to have Grogu back with him again, like all of these years he’s been missing a part of himself that is finally back. 

They descend the ramp of Din’s ship, paying for the privilege of docking and taking a lift to the lower level. 

Many people notice a Mandalorian immediately, and hurry off or hide their faces. They don’t know he has no interest in bounties today. Too bad...he could probably clean up at a place like this. 

Grogu stares longingly at several of the food stands that line this mini station, and while he looks around for Omera, Din stops and purchases a few things for later, getting a skewered amphibian for his son to eat while they search. For a small place, it’s difficult to survey, with lots of smaller rooms and darker corridors branching out. 

The other half of the base has more ships and bays, so they make their way over there together, hoping to find Omera on her quest to search for passage aboard a vessel, and hoping even more that they aren’t too late.

When he finally thinks he sees her, he can’t really see her face, just the back of her head. Grogu hums in confirmation. Din pauses next to a stand and orders a drink for his Foundling while he assesses the situation. She turns halfway toward him, enough that his heart thuds a little harder when he sees her. She’s dressed in more utilitarian pants and a jacket, looking every bit a trader, or maybe a smuggler, nothing like the traditional clothing of Sorgan. It’s a good disguise. 

She’s bargaining with a man who has seen his share of action, worn and scarred, surrounded by others loading cargo onto a ship. The man she’s bargaining with looks at whatever she offers, and throws it back at her. 

Din doesn’t want to act too soon, hoping she’ll walk away from them and he can approach without creating a stir. He doesn’t really want any additional eyes seeing them leave together, but if she boards that ship, he’ll have to step in. 

Omera starts to walk away from the negotiation, and one of the henchmen, a guard whose height and width overshadows Din’s in comparison, walks over to her. The large man leers down at her, saying something that annoys Omera enough that she steps back and declines in no uncertain terms. The brute grabs her arm and yanks her forward. Din’s prepared to act, to come to her defense, but he’s pleased when she fights back on her own, landing a solid, upwardly thrust palm into the henchman's nose, showing strength many wouldn’t expect.

But the brute doesn’t like that. “She’s really an amazing woman,” Din says aloud, hearing Grogu hum agreement as he finishes eating his skewered meat.

It all goes downhill so quickly, from what started as a failed negotiation for passage. The next moment, members of the crew from the ship produce weapons, so Omera grabs her blaster, one Din thinks he left for her long ago. 

She’s approached from three sides, managing to shoot the first two, but not quite turning quickly enough for the third. Blaster shots come at her, one grazing her arm and the other landing in the metal plates beneath her feet before Din shoots one of her attackers. 

He hurries over, finding four more crew members with weapons now trained on her. 

“She’s worth more warm to me than cold,” he announces in his typical, calm way, walking through the pointed weapons into the fray. He holds up a little cartridge that he hopes they’ll believe is a bounty puck. 

“She killed two of my men,” the scarred captain barks.

“That kind of behavior is probably why there’s a bounty on her head,” Din replies coolly.

“She belongs to me until she can pay for what she’s cost me, and the one you killed.”

“Maybe we can strike a deal. Have your men lower their weapons.”

“I don’t think so.”

Grogu sits up in his pack, leaning toward the captain over Din’s shoulder, and says sternly, “Weapons...lower them.”

Just as Din thinks the Child’s mouth will get them all into trouble, the captain says, “Lower your weapons,” and everyone complies.

Din holds up a cloth pouch of currency. “I’m sure this will more than compensate you for your losses.”

The captain appears poised to negotiate for more when Grogu says, “Half.”

The captain responds, “Half will suffice.”

Din takes out some of the currency and throws the pouch to the captain. 

“She must be worth a hell of a lot,” the captain grumbles when he looks at his earnings.

Din nods once, slowly. 

“She’s your problem now.”

He steps in front of Omera, hoping to hell she won’t fight him, that she remembers his voice and the color and look of his armor, or at least the Child. He doesn't want to fight her. 

“Hear you’re as tough to take down as an AT-ST,” he says, trying to provoke memories from the past so she can confirm his identity. He finds his binders on his belt, and adds, “The next few days can be tolerable...or very unpleasant. Your choice.”

He holds out his palm, and she places the blaster in it. She brings her hands in front of her to be bound. He puts the binders on, trying to be mindful of her wounded arm, tightening them enough to look good, but not as tightly as he’d bound a real bounty. "Good choice," he notes.

He steps behind her and gives her back a little shove, and she over exaggerates her stumble forward as she argues, “Mando scum.”

They’re watched by many as they march through the base and back to his ship, people gawking at a bounty hunter capturing his prey. They board an open glass lift where they can be seen, and he stands right behind her.

As soon as the doors close, she says only, “Winta...she’s—”

“I know,” he replies, wanting her to remain silent until the ship. 

He steps off the lift first, getting a look at her, seeing the anxiety in her eyes as she proudly holds her head high.

They get to his ship, a custom designed vessel with parts old enough to help him stay largely undetected, and upgrades that would fill most with envy (if they knew about them). Peli Motto is a part of his team he doesn’t think he can do without.

Once they're on board, he quickly closes the ramp and hurries to the cockpit. He puts Grogu on the seat next to him and whispers, “Omera, stay down,” before he gives her back her blaster.

“They come,” Grogu says, and Din sees the bay doors slowly closing, a security force gathering around. 

As quickly as possible, Din takes off. Using a few evasive maneuvers and quickly verifying a precalculated jump to hyperspace that he often programs before a potentially dangerous situation in case he needs to run quickly, they make their escape. 

As soon as he’s done, Din stands and helps Omera up from her spot on the floor behind him. Grogu waves a hand and the binders fall to the ground. “Are you okay?” Din asks apologetically. “Sorry about that—”

“They took her,” Omera starts immediately. 

“I know. Grogu told me.”

“Grogu?” she asks, having never heard the name, looking at him with such affection as he nods.

Din says, “He’s been in training with the Jedi for a while.” He turns to Grogu and says, “Pretty neat tricks out there.”

Grogu smiles humbly, but looks exhausted. 

“Why don’t you rest?” Din suggests. “We need to regroup, and plan the next phase. I’m taking us closer to the coordinates Grogu gave me for Winta, but it will take some time.” He sees Omera shiver and he says, “I’ll warm the cabin.”

“I’m fine,” she replies, checking her bleeding arm through a gash in her jacket.

“We should look at that.”

Grogu gestures for her to sit, and she does as he stands on the edge of her seat. He comes closer to the wound, his hand reaching out like he’s scanning the damage. Din knows what is about to happen will stun Omera. A look of greater concentration falls on Grogu’s face, and Din and Omera watch the way the wound lessens in length and the blood almost seems to pull back into her body. And in a moment, it is gone. Omera moves her arm, entirely shocked as she says, “Thank you.”

“Missed you. Your kindness. Your home,” Grogu tells her, hand on her shoulder. 

She smiles at him. "Winta and I both have missed you. We've often spoken of you." 

“Find Winta. Yes,” Grogu promises.

Din puts a hand on Grogu’s back, seeing the exhaustion there. After all, the child used to nap for incredible lengths of time after using his powers once, and today, he's used them many times. 

Din lifts his son, carrying him below and placing him in his bunk to rest. Grogu is asleep before the door is shut. 

Din is a bit surprised to find Omera behind him, watching him, her arms tightly wound around herself. He’s not sure if she’s really cold, or just feels cold and lost. 

Retrieving a blanket, he wraps it around her shoulders.

“Thanks,” she replies, closing it around her.

“Should replace your jacket, but my wardrobe is...limited.”

“I can repair this,” she offers.

She smiles quickly before sadness swallows her up again. 

He takes her over to his often used medical station, and she looks confused about why they’re stopping there. He points to a gash on her leg that's much smaller than the first, but still open, saying, “We’ll try to fix this up the usual way. I think the Child needs to sleep.” He sees bruises on her wrist and scratches on her forehead and wonders what all she’s been through.

She looks more vulnerable, suddenly, as she sits back and closes her eyes, letting her guard drop. He hopes she feels safe around him, that she trusts him. As she relaxes, she doesn't hold the blanket so tightly. 

When her eyes open, she begins to recount the moment when Winta was taken, the way she was hit over the head, the way she heard her daughter’s cries with the last bits of waning consciousness.

As she shares this with him so freely, it almost feels cruel to hide himself from her when she's so vulnerable. So he pulls his helmet off and sets it on the table, hoping to be there for her more as a man than a faceless hunter. And he knows already that this gesture will have meaning (at least to him) that will last far beyond this day. He’s always wondered what would have happened if he’d done this with her years ago.

She is obviously surprised, glancing at his face and quickly looking away. Reaching for his helmet to put it back on, he continues, “Sorry, I—”

Her hand settles on his to stop him from retrieving it. “Don't put it back on. You took me by surprise. I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to look at you,” she admits, her eyes coming up and settling right on his face. “I guess if you didn’t, you would have kept it on,” she notes with a hint of humor.

He offers a reassuring half-smile, then finds himself dropping his gaze now that she’s studying him. “You do that now?” she gently pries.

“Not often. A few times. For the kid. Or…now.”

She shifts and winces as the wound in her leg causes pain she can feel now that her arm is no longer throbbing. He sits in front of her at the table. “May I?” he asks, nodding toward her wound. 

She bobs her head, leaning back as he lifts her ankle to rest on his knee. He pulls up the bottom cuff of her pants, revealing the wound. Now that he’s focused on that, she’s studying him closely. He can feel it. 

He opens a bacta patch, carefully placing it on the wound before gently pulling her pant leg back down.

He comes just a little closer, his knee wedged between hers, using smaller remedies for the scratches on her head. She could so easily do this herself, he knows that. But he remembers the ways she took care of others so willingly and with such kindness back on Sorgan, so it seems only fitting to show her some similar kindness now that she is here in his world. As he tends to her wounds, she describes the ship that landed, and the way they abducted the young adults who’d gone out for a day of fun in the jungle, trying to recall any detail that might help them. 

As they talk, he feels her eyes flowing over his face. It’s as naked as he’s ever felt. There’s something impossibly personal about someone seeing his face that more technically intimate acts he’s shared never made him feel.

He removes his gloves and takes her wrist in his hands, the bruised one, turning it over for inspection and testing her range of motion. He wants to ask about the trials she’s faced these last few days, but he doubts she wants to talk about them. He wonders how many people he’d have to hunt down if he knew exactly what she’s been through, and how she's been treated. 

She doesn’t resist his touch in the slightest, allowing his thumb to caress her skin and offer some subtle comfort in the face of so much pain. When their eyes meet, she looks uncertain again.

“Is it too strange, seeing me like this?” he asks.

“No!” she counters. “I’ve imagined it.”

He smiles subtly. “What did you imagine?”

“Someone….paler."

He chuckles.

Omera continues, "When did you start doing that? Showing your face?”

“Before Grogu left. Hasn't been much reason to since.”

“I can imagine you’d get used to it. To the anonymity. The safety.”

He nods.

“How long was he gone...?” she asks, and he realizes she pauses where a name belongs. 

“Din,” he pats his palm to his chestplate.

“You have a face, and a name,” she gently says like she's pleased with both. “What about your creed? I thought you were forbidden from—”

"It's still very important to me. But...I realize some rare things are more important than creeds." 

It’s a huge confession, implying so openly that someone he knew years ago and hasn’t so much as spoken to since still matters very much to him. 

"So how long was he with the Jedi?” she asks.

"Five years."

“You let him go?”

“It was best for him. I didn’t want to drag him all over the galaxy with me. I thought he should be with his people. And…” he pauses, feeling a flood of emotion that he’s kept buried for years, taking the time to push those feelings away. 

“You know how it feels, losing your child,” she states compassionately. 

“He’s here now. And soon, Winta will be, too,” he quickly redirects, the strong, unwavering certainty back in his voice. 

She wants to believe this, but he can tell she has doubts. She asks instead, “You remembered us?"

“Our days with you were some of the best I remember.”

“And after all this time, you came when you thought we were in trouble?”

He nods once before he stands and steps back.

He walks over to the place where he stores his clothing, and a few other pieces he’s ended up with along the way. While he’s looking through items and not into her eyes, he says, "Lost track of how many times I wondered what would have happened if I'd just let you take off my helmet." He’s so very grateful he’s not facing her right now.

He finds a heavy jacket that came from one of his jobs. It could replace her damaged one and at least offer her cover, but little as far as protection from blasters and the like. As far as her torn pants, he takes a repair kit and says, “We can try to mend those, because I don’t have anything that will...” His words falter as she stands and comes quite close.

She takes the kit, her eyes full of gratitude, and places it on the table behind her. “Thank you for coming,” she says softly, the sound of her voice landing pleasantly in his ears. 

He nods, his gaze gentle. The look in her eyes reminds him of how he’s felt nearly every day these last few years: like some part of him had been ripped out.

As awkward as he feels in taking action, he can’t seem to stop himself. This, like removing his helmet, will probably have a lasting impact. And yet, he does this, too, without reservation. He reaches out, wrapping one arm around her as he fights the anxious knot in his chest when he thinks she may push him away or balk at the gesture. If there is a moment of hesitation on her part, it’s so fleeting that he can’t find it, and she leans into his chest. 

He doesn't remember his chest plate ever feeling so bulky before, but he wishes it weren’t there right now, because it feels like too much is between them. Her cheek rests on him as one of her arms drapes loosely over his shoulder. He tilts his head lower until his cheek presses against her forehead, feeling the hot warmth of skin on his face that scrambles his senses with the unfamiliarity of it. 

Her fingers move subtly against the back of his neck as they breathe together. His other hand finally comes to rest at the center of her back, pressing her closer, letting his figurative shell melt into warm flesh as she eases against him. 

There are a million feelings erupting within him that he can’t really deal with right now (or maybe ever), as he finds the sensation of her face next to his far more enticing than he would have imagined. She feels good, perhaps a little too good. Impulses awaken that seem wholly ill-timed, given that the woman in question is worried for her daughter's life and safety. 

In those first years as a young man out on his own, he’d had _encounters_. But that helmet never for one moment left his head (in fact, he usually kept as much armor on him as he could). It’s been a long time since those days. A very long time.

And he’s never really held someone like _this_.

Never in his previous experiences had he felt the feeling of a woman’s fingers at the base of his skull, absently stroking the ends of his hair, as Omera is. Her face moves closer as she nuzzles against him. Her breath skims against his neck, and he breathes hard enough that the next exhale nearly becomes a sigh. 

It’s probably the most intimate act he’s ever experienced, although he’s certain the same can’t be true for her. 

His arms tighten around her slightly, and he’s so grateful now for the armor on his body because he needs a little protection from this. He orders himself not to think of such things, but a disobedient part of himself does anyway. A momentary flash of the thought of her naked body against his hits so hard that he can practically feel it. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t fantasized about her before...in more ways than one.

His mind, his honor, takes control again, knowing this isn’t the right time to get lost in these thoughts, but acknowledging that he really hopes such a time will come for them. 

He pulls back just enough, taking her wrist from behind his neck and holding her hands devotedly in front of him. He leans close to her, hoping to hell she doesn’t feel like he’s distancing himself completely. He feels strong and certain until she looks directly at him, and he gets lost in her wide brown eyes that don’t lose their beauty because of the sadness in them. 

He vows, “Winta will be with you again soon. And those who've done this will not do it again.”

Her lips part as she stares at him, and in that moment, he knows how easily guards could drop and they could get lost in each other, seeking comfort as a reprieve from the ache, hoping for a connection in the loneliness. He doesn’t think she’d stop him if he made advances (and like it or not, he’s positive he wouldn’t stop her if she did). She makes him feel much less impervious than he usually feels. 

Remembering the challenges before them, suddenly she swallows and refocuses. She asks, “Do you want to show me where we’re going?”

“Yes,” he offers instantly, smiling reassuringly, then picking up his gloves and helmet and replacing them before heading to the cockpit together.

He shows her the last coordinates Grogu gave him, and they discuss the location briefly, but Omera’s exhaustion is getting hard for her to ignore. 

“You’ll be better prepared to fight if you rest,” he mentions. “I’ll move Grogu. You can have my bunk—"

"I'm fine here," she says, settling into one of the passenger's seats. 

He's slept here before, but it's not the most comfortable. Oddly enough, she's asleep in minutes. He quietly goes below deck and finds the blanket she left there, returning to the cockpit and draping it over her. Her eyes begin to flutter open, and he whispers, "Rest. I'll wake you when it's time." 

It feels ridiculously good when she pulls the blanket under her chin and trusts him enough to sleep. 


	2. Prisoners

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your interest in this! I’m so excited to know that someone out there is reading. I hope you enjoy the next installment.

**—Part 2: Prisoners—**

In the early hours of the next day, Din’s ship catches up with the vessel where Winta and her friends are being held. He hails the other vessel, telling them he has additional cargo that’s been sent for them that he’s been ordered to deliver. Although they agree to meet, they’re obviously suspicious.

As they prepare to land, Omera says, “We should try to take some of them alive.” Din’s head tilts in question, and she adds, “If there are people like that attacking defenseless planets like mine, there are others like Winta out there, and parents like me, hoping for their safe return. Someone needs to figure out what’s going on.” She can’t stand the thought that this could continue.

Grogu, standing between them, agrees. “Leia. Take them to Leia.”

Din sighs. “If we can.” They land and prepare to meet the other ship, and he says to Grogu, “You stay here, out of sight. Don’t let them see you. If things don’t go well—”

“Distract them, I will,” Grogu states.

“Exactly.” As for the second half of his plan, Omera probably won’t like it. Din begins, “We promised them cargo.”

“Yes,” she looks around for anything that might work. 

“If they’re capturing prisoners, they aren’t looking for goods. They’re looking for bodies.”

“What are you saying?” she asks.

“Look, if I can make them believe I’m delivering you to add to their captives, we can get really close before people start shooting. Just like at the last outpost, you’ll be my bounty.” He knows she doesn't like this, but he adds, “If we walk out there and start shooting, how can we be sure Winta and the others are safe? We have to get close, assess the situation.”

"I could have captured you.”

“Next time,” he says, and her eyes narrow at first, but then the idea suddenly doesn’t seem so unpleasant to her.

Before she can argue further, he adds, “They don’t want people like me. They don’t want fighters, people who will cause trouble. If they attacked a place like Sorgan, they’re going after peaceful people. They’ll wonder why you’d bring me. They don’t want me.”

They go down below to where they’ll disembark as he continues, “One of your strengths, is that you don’t look like the fighter you are. I cannot hide who I am.”

Her eyes shift unhappily, but she quickly shucks off the thick jacket he gave her, leaving the thinner, whitish shirt beneath. She untucks it and rolls up the sleeves and tries to look less battle-ready. Her fingers quickly fly through her hair, putting two braids down the sides instead of having it simply tied back. From her pocket, she retrieves a necklace and puts it on. It's beautiful and old, probably the very thing she wanted to trade for passage. With those modest changes, she looks more like an ordinary citizen than a fighter.

“I’m going to be an open target out there,” she says. 

“They won’t want to shoot you. You're more valuable to them than I am,” he says. His argument isn’t enough, so he finds a belt in his things and says, “Put this around your waist, under the shirt, with this catch at the back. She does so, and he shows her how a smaller model blaster fits in place. “Press here,” he shows her, “and it will release the blaster.”

“Okay,” she agrees.

“Keep your hands behind you until you need to shoot. They won’t know that you’re not bound.”

* * *

Omera and Din walk through the vibrant green tall grasses toward the other ship. This planet is beautiful, the air clean, with the wonderful smell of fresh things that she hasn’t found on ships or bases. She hasn’t seen anything like this since she left Sorgan. Too bad there’s likely to be bloodshed on this tranquil field. 

Three heavily armed mercenaries come down from the ship, ready for a fight before a single word is said. “You missed one,” Din says loudly enough. “Was told you could take her back with the rest.”

“I didn’t miss anything,” says the humanoid who seems to lead them. He’s flanked by two Chistori, who look like they’ve been yearning for a fight for ages.

“Someone did. I found her and was told to rendezvous with your ship to receive payment,” Din replies.

“Payment?” the head merc says, laughing. “I don’t owe you anything.”

“Fine,” Din counters without emotion, turning to Omera like he plans to go back to his ship, “I’ll find someone who will.”

“Hold on,” the mercenary says. “Let me have a look.”

Din turns back slowly, waiting for the merc to come closer, hoping to get control of him and therefore have influence over the others. Din’s watching, measuring, waiting for the time to get his blaster against the humanoid’s head and order the Chistori to drop their weapons. There’s a perfect moment...he knows it will come.

But when the mercenary comes close enough, he lunges forward and grabs Omera, spinning her, putting a blaster to her head and saying, “Who the hell sent you?”

Din acts only mildly inconvenienced by this turn of events. Remaining perfectly calm, he says, “I don’t ask questions. That’s the code.”

He watches Omera, although he keeps his visor pointed more at the merc behind her. Din sees a little flicker in her eyes that lets him know she’s about to act. She blinks and he hears a blaster shot from the weapon she had hidden behind her, watching as the merc tumbles to the ground. He and Omera turn toward the two Chistori, who both drop and disappear into the tall grass. 

Din pulls Omera down next to him so she has the cover of the tall grasses, activating heat sensors and trying to find their targets. Reptilian species don't always show up well using thermal tech. 

Omera peeks up through the grass, finding one and shooting just a little off to the side, successfully wounding rather than killing. But that simply infuriates the Chistori, who charges at her, hissing as Din and Omera fire at the same time, and the target drops heavily to the ground.

The other Chistori is nowhere to be found. “How many more do you think are on the ship?” she asks.

“Could be two, could be ten,” he replies. “It’s a new model. I’m not familiar with it.”

“We have to get inside...make sure the prisoners are safe—and…” she pauses, and Din looks at her to find out why. She points at the other vessel’s ramp. Standing at the top of it, right at the center, is Grogu.

Neither saw him go there, but he must have crept through the grass while the skirmish was going on. 

Grogu’s hand lifts in the air, and the missing Chistori is lifted up from the grass, off to the side, like perhaps he’d planned on flanking them. The Chistori gasps, flailing like he can’t breathe. Din aims his new trapping mechanism at the large creature and deploys it, watching how quickly it incapacitates his foe. Once secured, Grogu allows him to breathe again. 

Behind Grogu, the seven young people from Sorgan emerge, looking tentatively out to see if it’s safe to leave. Omera runs toward them, frantically gesturing for them to leave the ship in case there are others inside.

Winta runs to Omera, the two embracing through tears of joy. Din can scarcely believe that child is now as tall as her mother, maybe even a little taller, willowy yet strong. Her expression as she allows her mother to hold her reveals her youth.

Omera leads them toward the safety of Din’s ship.

He asks about any mercs still inside, and Grogu replies with a proud chuckle, “One guard. Trapped.”

Omera says, “We should probably search the ship.”

Din nods, wondering if he should admonish Grogu for acting on his own, but this isn’t the time, and the Child managed to bring the Sorganite youth out safely. For now, the safe return of those young people is the important part. He tells Grogu, “Stay with everyone on our ship. Close the door, keep them safe. Don’t let anyone in or out until we return. Protect them. Understand? Do not leave them.”

"Yes, Father," Grogu nods, walking with the group as they all go safely on board and the ramp closes. 

Din asks Omera, quickly assessing, “Are you okay?” 

“Winta's safe,” Omera replies. “So I’m wonderful. You?”

He nods and they walk toward the mercenaries’ ship together, stopping for the tied up Chistori and keeping him in front of them in case he plans on trying to escape. They put him in a holding cell next to the one where Grogu left the other guard, carefully locking the door. Din can’t wait to ask Grogu how he got the enormous thug trapped inside.

While searching the ship for signs of life on board, Din realizes that Omera’s skills with a blaster probably come from a great deal of training, and not simply hunting or some other skill that would require shooting. She explores carefully, methodically, like she’s falling back into known tactics. She finds a blaster, different from her own, and has no trouble figuring it out and testing it, putting the safety on before she attaches it to an appropriate clip on her pants. He hopes to one day learn about her past, and where all these skills came from.

When they’re certain no one else is on board, Omera returns to the cantine, Din following watchfully behind her. He looks at all of the controls and the high-end design of this place and says, “I’ve heard of luxury cruisers, but they’re not usually used for prisoner transport or cargo. I’ve never seen anything like this. One thing’s for sure, they are well-funded.”

“Let’s hope they’re well stocked,” she says, digging through drawers for rations. 

After she grabs an armful of them, he chuckles and asks, “Hungry?”

She looks at him like he’s clueless and says, “We have eight mouths to feed, besides our own. Who knows when they’ve last eaten.”

Truthfully, the thought never even occurred to him as he remembers the few things he bought at the last outpost that might be enough for his often ravenous son, but wouldn’t be enough to share. 

It’s funny how she’s an adept partner in a fight, and then so easily slips into the role of caregiver again. It’s a little shameful, the way he enjoys her caring for him, and the way he wants to care for her as well. 

She asks, “Aren’t you hungry?”

“Now that you mention it,” he agrees, coming closer to her as she points out some options. Finding a few large, empty containers, he brings them to her to fill so they can carry more. When they're finished, they take two boxes overflowing with provisions back to Din’s ship, watching the rescued captives all rush forward for food.

* * *

After Grogu makes contact with Leia Organa, the ship takes off with far more passengers than what Din is used to. With the two still-living mercenaries safely locked in a hold below, Din pilots the packed ship to a rendezvous point in the hopes that Leia and her people can investigate whatever is going on. It’s not how Din usually handles things, but it isn’t like he has time to launch an investigation and bring a crime syndicate to justice. 

When he goes below to check on everyone, he finds the Sorganite youth sleeping all around the lower deck. Winta is between her mother and Grogu, and Din can’t help but be warmed by the way his son is curled against the young woman like the two never left each other’s sides. Even while sleeping, Grogu seems happier to be with his friend.

There’s no room for Din down below, even if he wanted to rest, so he returns to his cockpit.

* * *

Din decides to pass the quiet hours of travel by doing some light maintenance, replacing broken bulbs and doing some rewiring on nonessential components. His mind is busily racing, wondering what happens next. 

He wonders if they’ll meet up with Grogu’s associates, and Omera and Winta and the others will all take off for Sorgan with them. Will Grogu go along as well, back to the Jedi, or maybe to Sorgan for a while? He wonders what would happen if he would ask Omera, Winta, and Grogu if they wanted to stay, or if he chose to go to Sorgan with them. What does he really have to offer them? His is a life of ships, jobs, coverts, and a still largely desolate Mandalore, hardly anything as beautifully idyll as their home. 

And he keeps thinking of Omera, of holding her again, wondering if things really could be different.

The door to the cockpit slides open, and he sees Omera there, and he hopes to hell she can’t hear his thoughts the way Grogu can read people. Or maybe it would be much easier if she could...if he didn’t have to say anything, and she could just... _know._

“Mind some company?” she asks, and he gestures for her to enter. Tension crackles between them, as it always does, but so much more so when they’re alone. The pull between them amplifies the silence.

“Everything alright?” he asks, replacing another tiny bulb on a control panel near the door since he’s opting to stay busy.

“Yes,” she replies, entering just enough to shut the door.

She stares out at space as they hurtle through it. “I’d forgotten how beautiful space travel can be,” she notes casually, and again he fights the urge to pry for more information about her, to learn about the many moments of her life that have created the person she is. “You’re probably used to it,” she continues. 

He wraps the old bulbs in an empty package and puts them down behind him, brushing off his hands as he leans back, half-seated on a ledge. “I remember being awed by it at first,” he admits. “I'm always a little more appreciative of it when everything works again after a breakdown.”

She laughs softly, looking down, and then falls silent again. He tilts his head, waiting for her to say whatever it is she’s come to say. It definitely feels like there’s something.

Pushing off from the door, she comes closer to him, standing so near to where he leans that the tips of her boots are between the tips of his. Her eyes look up into his visor, staring, and it’s odd how much it feels like it isn't there, like she’s looking right at him, making him feel exposed to her stare. Her hands lift with summoned courage, each of her palms planting on the sides of his helmet, just like she had years ago. 

Her hold is tight, and when he lowers a little to let her know he doesn’t mind, the helmet begins to lift. Now thoroughly emboldened, she takes it from his head, stepping away for only a moment to put it on the floor beside him before she returns.

“I’m glad you came,” she says.

“Me too,” he replies, his voice low and muted.

And the silence swallows them up again. The closeness makes his pulse rush in his ears. 

She rises only a little, bringing her face close to his, glancing at him like she’s waiting for him to rebuff her. Truthfully, he’s never understood the appeal of kissing, it never seemed worth breaking his creed for. But now, as she stands before him, he wants nothing more.

She leans very close, pausing for the slightest blip of a second before she offers a brush of contact, and when he tilts his head just enough to receive this kiss, he feels her smile against him, warming him in yet another way. Her lips meet his with a softness that he’s never even imagined, parting to surround his upper lip with hers before she captures the lower. Her fingers climb up the back of his neck, and there’s that thoroughly scrambled, scattered, and ridiculously alive feeling she provokes in him again. 

He’s grateful the kiss is heavy and slow, giving him time to learn what she likes. He has no idea what he’s doing, after all. This is uncharted territory, so he reflects the things she does to him, accepting her kiss, returning her actions in similar ways.

Her tongue whispers over his lower lip, and he quite audibly groans at the feeling because he can’t avoid it, even if it means she'll know what this is doing to him, how much it’s affecting him. And, even better, so much better, is what the sound of her moaning back makes him feel. 

Her hand grasps the back of his head, fingers pressing against his scalp as she nudges his lips open and slides her tongue into his mouth, caressing, coaxing him to respond in kind. He’s entirely her prisoner, unable to do or think of anything but this. His hand moves to her face, holding the side of her head, gloved fingers curling around the nape of her neck because he feels like he cannot survive without touching more of her.

Yea, he never imagined it would feel like this. This is the kind of thing one can easily become accustomed to craving. She pulls away like she’s required to more than because she wishes to, and he follows her until his forehead rests against hers. He’s relieved she’s as breathless as he is, that her eyes seem as wild with longing as his entire body feels.

Her hands hold either side of his face, bringing his mouth back to hers as her lips press lovingly to his one more time before her palms drop to the top of his chest and rest against his armor.

She takes two long steps back toward the door, and she confirms, “You’re not angry?”

He shakes his head slowly and decisively, a little smile curling one side of his mouth. She giggles softly and nods, “Good.”

She stoops for a moment, retrieves his helmet, and offers it up to him. He tucks it under his arm and waits. She looks out the window toward space, “I just…” then she glances back toward the door, as if she’s trying to make a choice, “...I...wanted to do that with you...before you run off again.”

And she smiles sweetly at the end, and he returns the same. He can’t possibly figure out the right thing to say. 

Then, at the very last second, when she turns to leave, the smile falls off her face and her eyes grow heavy with sadness, and it stabs his heart to see it. In fact, he’s almost certain he wasn’t supposed to see it, he isn't supposed to know how much his decision to leave years ago wounded her, or how she dreads the next separation.

She walks out the door, and he, acting impulsively (a very un-Mandalorian choice), follows, taking her hand and bringing her back to face him. Surprise is etched all over her face. She pushes him firmly back through the door and shuts it. He's confused by her response, but she reminds him, “Someone else could see you,” pointing at his helmet still under his arm, and he realizes how quickly he’d forgotten all about it to chase her.

“Your life there was so perfect. Peaceful. I didn’t want to destroy that, bring violence into it,” he says devoutly, wanting to tell her the way it gutted him to leave, and that he’s thought of her countless times, and that his dreams wander into romantic notions that a man like him should never even consider. 

She nods and says, “I know,” with the saddest smile he’s ever witnessed. And then she adds, “But violence found us anyway. It always does."

And with that, she disappears below deck.

* * *

After napping rather fitfully in the cockpit, he hears the warning sounds of his ship, telling him they’re coming out of hyperspace. They must be near the rendezvous point. And he hasn’t figured out a damn thing, doesn’t have the slightest clue what will happen after the meeting. He looks over at the seat next to his and sees Grogu just waking. Din must have been sleeping when his son came to join him. 

“Almost there,” Din tells him. He tries to figure out how to tell Grogu that he can stay, if he wants to, at least for a little while. Maybe they could go to Mandalore to see the modest pieces of it that are now habitable. Like with Omera, there are so many things he wants to say and ask, but he can’t seem to figure out how.

Grogu hums as he stretches, then pleads, "Stay with you. Please, Father.”

Din asks, “Are you sure that’s what you want?” 

The Child nods. “With you, my journey is.”

The man beams behind his mask, because he hasn’t had nearly enough time to catch up with his Foundling. “Okay. You can stay with me for a while.”

“Mudhorn clan, yes?”

Din musses up what little hair Grogu has, and says, "Yea. That's us.”

* * *

After they land, Omera leaves the ship, accompanying Din and Grogu, to meet those who may be able to help. The young people from Sorgan wait in the ship to make sure it’s safe. 

The woman they meet, Leia, seems both strong and kind enough to put the worst of Omera’s worries at ease. 

Din transfers the captured mercenaries to the Wookie and the man he’s with, and gives the coordinates for the abandoned ship to Leia so they can send someone to check it out. 

When all of the young people come out of the ship, Leia introduces herself and says, “I can take most of you home.”

“Most?” Omera asks.

Leia, with polite diplomacy, says, “You really upset the wrong people. That usually means you did something that needed to be done. However, there’s one hell of a bounty on your heads.”

She hands a holo chip to Omera, and she and Din look at it, seeing the enormous bounties on their heads, as well as Grogu’s, along with surveillance footage of them inside the mercenaries’ ship. Din sighs, “I don’t think I made that much with my first fifty bounties combined.”

“So, I can’t advise you to return home,” Leia states. 

“Is our planet safe?” Omera asks.

“I have some friends monitoring Sorgan to make sure of that.”

“What will we do?”

“I can hide you all somewhere—”

Din shakes his head, “Too many people will know. I'll find some place.”

“I’ll send out a message that the three of you were captured and are being held for various crimes.”

“What crimes?” Din asks.

“You know there’s a pile of bodies in your wake?” Leia reminds.

He crosses his arms. Omera argues, “It was necessary.”

“And no one is charging you,” Leia affirms. “But...if they think you’re in our custody, they won’t be looking for you elsewhere. It might help buy you some time to find a spot and lay low while we investigate. I’ll reach out when we’ve found out who’s responsible for the kidnappings, and what they’re doing. Once they’re out of the picture, there won't be anyone to pay the bounty.”

“You can do this?” Omera asks. 

“I have good connections.” 

Leia hands Din an identification code and says, “Use this while you travel, if you need to. It’s a code for a maintenance ship so no one asks questions.”

He accepts it, standing protectively close by Omera’s side. In fact, she doesn’t think he’s been more than half a meter away from her since they left the ship.

“When you figure out who’s responsible, if you need help finding them, let me know,” Din offers.

“I’m not sure we can afford your fee,” Leia mentions.

“Consider it repayment for your assistance.”

Leia bows her head gratefully, “I appreciate that.”

Din turns to Omera, his voice sounding hopeful even with the modulator, "You can come with me.” Trying to sound more pragmatic, he adds, “Might be wise to stick together. You’re resourceful, good in a fight. I know a few places we could go until things calm down.”

Omera replies evenly, “Might be wise.”

He sees Leia in his peripheral vision, and the look she gives him as he talks. He’s not sure exactly what that looks means, but he’s pretty sure he’s doing something wrong. Feeling like every pair of eyes is on him, and now maybe his offer sounded too practical, he adds, “I’d like it if you accompanied us...if you want."

At that she smiles, and replies, “I’d like it, too. What about Win—”

Winta hurries up to her mother. “I am coming with you."

Omera turns to Din, concerned he’ll refuse, but he immediately nods and says, "Of course."

Her eyes soften as she smiles, pleased that the choice to include Winta was an easy one for him as well. 

After watching the other ship take off with the homeward bound Sorganites, Omera smiles openly. Grogu and Winta wait near Din’s ship as Winta tells him stories. It seems her daughter and Din’s son are almost destined to be by each other's sides. 

"I'm glad you chose to join us, Omera," Din confesses as they return to the ship.

"I am glad you invited us, Din," she replies, wondering what sorts of adventures are in store for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Promise...next chapter things start to really heat up.


	3. Old Wounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again so much for reading and for your comments and kudos! I hope you enjoy this next chapter.

**—Part 3: Old Wounds—**

After the meeting with Leia, Din sets a path far from there, hoping to avoid any sort of detection. Omera sits in the cockpit with him as they embark on their journey, noting the way she watches each and every move he makes. She doesn’t say a word as he charts the course and they take off.

“Where are we going?” she asks once he’s done, and he realizes that since she isn’t his captive, he should probably discuss this with her.

He brings up the maps, “Two options. One is to leave the galaxy.”

“The galaxy?” she counters like that’s ridiculous.

“I’ve done it before. But I think there’s a better option.”

He brings up another map. “Here, in the Unknown Regions,” he explains.

“Looks...very unknown. Is there even anything that can support life?”

“There was a covert...a hidden Mandalorian community,” he explains, pointing. “Right here. Doesn’t even appear on maps, so probably a good place to hide. Most don't travel there, it's dangerous to pass through. Too risky to follow us even if someone finds out where we are."

"You think we can make it?"

"There's a way through that I think only a handful of my people know about. I've done it before a few times."

“Why was it abandoned?”

“It was too far away from the rest of us, especially when some of the elder members became ill and the others were still young. They were convinced to join up with another settlement.”

He can tell she knows him well enough to read that there’s more, but she doesn’t push, instead saying, “You’re exhausted. Is this leg of the flight long?”

He nods. She stands, leaving the cockpit without a word. Returning shortly after, she says, “Go down to your bunk. I’ll monitor things.”

“Grogu and Winta are sleeping there.”

“They were,” she says gently, “but they’re eating now, I checked. And I found a different place for them to rest. We don’t want to inconvenience you in your home. I’m sure I can handle this. Aren’t there sensors and alarms if danger arises?”

“Yes. But I’m fine.”

“No,” she replies, taking his hand and pulling him to his feet. “You need to rest. We’re all counting on you to get us there safely,” she insists in a way he thinks he actually can’t say 'no' to. She stubbornly stands before him, immovable in her decision. “I will keep watch. If I notice any sign of trouble, I’ll wake you.”

She takes him below deck, and he sees Grogu and Winta tucked into an alcove that leads to the hold. Overall, a good place. As he rounds the corner to speak to them, Grogu is mid-story, animatedly telling a tale, perhaps holding an imaginary lightsaber as he demonstrates something for Winta. Her eyes are wide as she listens, smiling as she cuts bits of food from their rations and puts them on a plate that the two will share. 

Grogu looks up at him, a smile coming across his face as he sees his father. “I’m going to rest for a short while,” Din says. “If you need anything, call for me or hit the alarm.”

As much as Din had thought the Jedi were Grogu’s kind, he's also part of Din’s clan, and probably Winta's as well. The love and friendship shared between those two is something not at all ordinary, something few will ever know or understand.

* * *

Omera taps his shoulder after he’s been listening for a while, taking him to his bunk rather insistently. There isn’t much room, mostly enough to stand right next to the bunk, or lie down. She shuts the door as he lowers onto the mattress and groans at his achiness. He loosens his boots, but doesn’t take them off. He places his helmet right by his hand so it can be on his head in a flash if he’s needed. She knows how automatic this all is, but also notes that he seems to be more comfortable with her seeing him.

She questions, “You leave all of the rest of the armor on?”

“Usually.”

“Not very restful.”

“It’s fine.” He studies her like he isn’t sure if things are really okay between them since the slight awkwardness of his invitation for her to go into hiding with him.

She sits next to him, reaching over to remove his vambraces and gloves. Even though he wouldn’t normally remove them for a rest, he doesn’t stop her. She treats the items respectfully, with the same care he would. When finished, she orders, “Lie down.” 

Once he’s comfortable, she lifts his hand, turning it over as she holds it. Her thumb presses into the fleshy part of his palm, and the relief the touch creates is evident all over his face. Omera works over that palm, and along each segment of his fingers. She massages down over his wrist and half way up his forearm as his jaw goes slack and his breathing slows. 

Finally stretching his hand, he confesses, “Much better. I didn’t even realize it hurt.”

With a look of satisfaction, she takes the other hand and forearm and does the same, massaging away pain that hasn’t been relieved since he’d been taken in as a boy.

When she stops, he says, “Thank you,” his face flushed at their closeness in this small space.

“You’re welcome,” she replies.

She smiles, reaching over his body, her hand landing on the mattress to balance herself. She leans forward, and he smiles back at her, a love-drunk sort of look that draws her to him even more. 

She leans in slowly, her lips meeting his in a delicate way that’s supposed to be a kindly goodnight kiss, but he puts an arm around her and keeps her close, deepening the kiss she instigated. And he is not an easy man for her to resist. 

She breaks away, after a time. Her heart is flying in her chest, her body so tempted by the thought of climbing into that bunk with him.

But she looks at the dark circles beneath his eyes and hears the sounds of Winta and Grogu beyond the door. Winta shouts, “Mama, I can’t get the shower on in the ‘fresher.”

Omera closes her eyes and shakes her head. She whispers to Din, “I always figured by this age, she’d stop calling for me at the worst moments.” Then she shouts out the door, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

She whispers, “I’d really like to continue this...conversation.”

“Mmm,” he agrees, his eyes lowering to her lips. “You can come back. I don’t think I’ll sleep much.”

She feels an intense love for this man she scarcely knows, but she’s felt drawn to him since the moment she met him. She scoots up on the mattress, closer to the top. His hand lands on her thigh, and it’s almost all she can think about, the warmth she feels on her leg. She concentrates on what she should do rather than what she wishes to do, bringing her fingers up to the top of his forehead. “Close your eyes,” she urges. She strokes a few curls away from his forehead, brushing them back, letting the backs of her knuckles glide over his skin before reaching up to brush more unruly tendrils away. She feels undeniable affection that very nearly overwhelms her. It’s been a long time since she’s felt like this.

The tension begins to slip away from his face as he gets closer to sleep. He rests his hand on her arm like that may convince her to stay. She doesn’t stop until he drifts into deeper sleep, and she’s sure he won’t wake. She slips her arm out from under his hand, studying this man she feels such fondness for, before she leaves to look after the others.

* * *

Din wakes and immediately fears he’s been incapacitated by some tranquilizer, not used to deeply restful sleep. His limbs are heavy, and he stretches to awaken himself. He sees his missing gloves and remembers Omera bringing him here, and practically forcing him to rest. He remembers the way she treated him, her fingers on his face and in his hair, the comfort of a gentle touch, one given without any expectation.

There is plenty of noise beyond his door, and he wonders how long he’s been sleeping, and what in the hell is going on out there.

He returns his helmet and other gear to their proper places. Now fully armored, he opens the door. 

Winta and Grogu sit at the medical station, rifling through supplies. Grogu’s ears lift in happy response when he sees his father. “What are you doing?” Din asks.

“Inventory,” Winta reponds.

“Know what one needs, must know what one has,” Grogu responds in an official sort of way. 

“Okay,” Din replies, his attention directed to Omera, who is carrying a cargo box that she can’t see over. She doesn’t realize he’s on the other side as she walks toward him.

He takes it from her hands just before she runs into him. She peers around the box and says, “Hi,” sounding a little too excited to see him.

“Hi,” he replies, finding suddenly that he has no other words. 

“You were gone a long time, for someone who couldn’t sleep,” she teases as he puts the box next to the kids. 

He stretches his neck, “Perhaps a little sleep was in order.”

Winta and Grogu are looking back and forth between the two adults and their oddly electrical exchange.

“We were trying to figure out what we have,” Omera loudly redirects, pointing at the supplies Winta and Grogu are organizing, “that way we can figure out what we still need.”

Din nods, “The kid mentioned that.”

“I hope it’s okay.”

“It’s good.”

“I’m assuming we’ll have to stop for fuel, and I thought we could try to gather any needed provisions at that time. If I read things right, our stop is coming up soon.”

“Probably,” he admits, knowing he slept far too long. 

“I’ve put together a list of what we need,” she hands it to him, and he looks it over. “Add whatever you’d like, and when we land, I’ll check the outpost to see what’s available. It’s best if I go alone.”

“What?” Din whips around.

“Help you,” Grogu adds. 

She looks at him and says, “Beautiful boy...you are sought after and unique, and therefore memorable. It’s not safe for you to be seen.” She turns to Din, “You cannot go anywhere without attracting attention. If people are looking for us, they're looking for a Mandalorian, this child, and a woman. No one is looking for a woman traveling alone. I’ll be quick.”

“They might be looking for you, too,” Din reminds. 

“Easier for me to blend in,” she counters. Omera quickly fashions a scarf from a sheet that covers enough of her head and face. “I’ll be quick.”

Din’s used to making the decisions alone on his ship, knowing compromise will be challenging.

“Or...I have a contact where we’re landing,” Din offers. “I’ll ask them to gather what we need before we arrive. That way, you aren’t out in the open for long. You can go out, pay for the supplies and the fuel, and come right back in.” 

She nods at the plan. 

A short while later, Grogu and Winta play a game using bits and pieces they found around the ship as markers while they take a break from their work. Din isn’t familiar with this game, but he thinks he saw locals playing it once or twice on Sorgan. Din is fascinated by and curious about the bits of Mandalorian history his Foundling is proudly telling his friend.

Omera, it seems, is rarely idle, often finding tasks to complete or ways to stay busy. He’s a bit more used to stretches with little going on than she is. When she finishes repairing the blaster damage in her trousers, he says, “It’s possible we'll need to defend ourselves again.”

This doesn’t appear to surprise her. “Of course,” she agrees.

“It might be best to make sure you have everything you need so we aren’t scrambling for equipment.”

“Agreed.” Din opens his weapons cabinet so she can look through it, and she asks, “Which weapons may I use?”

“Anything in here.”

She looks at a vibroblade and says, “I’ve never used one of these.”

“Once we settle at the covert, you’re welcome to test your skill. Takes practice. Suited to close combat I really hope to avoid.”

While she looks through the items, he finds a holster among his things, one he used to use regularly, and brings it to her. He holds it up, showing a few of the gadgets available on it, and says, “You can have this.”

“Thank you,” she replies, pulling it around her waist, and trying to tighten it. When it sticks, he sits in front of her and offers his help.

She lifts her arms out to the sides as he reaches around her to adjust it. He looks up toward her, trying to share a smile and little gaze, realizing that now she can’t see his face, and he regrets that a bit, missing the connection. He helps her fill her belt and pack her jacket with the gear and ammunition she may need. 

It seems like as good a time as any to clean and maintain his weapons, so they settle at the table and work on them together. Several meters away, Winta playfully accuses Grogu of cheating, and they laugh and argue over the rules. Din says quietly, “Could I ask you a question?”

Part of the beauty of talking to Omera is that she always seems to truly listen. She pauses in her work, looks at him and says, “Yes, of course.”

“I doubt they offer the type of training you’ve had on Sorgan.”

She nods and teases, “That’s not a question.”

“Yea,” he tries to figure out how to ask, but finally goes for it. “Empire? New Republic?”

"This is between us only?"

He nods.

“Neither,” she shakes her head, picking up a weapon to work on as she does. After making sure Winta isn’t close enough to hear, she says, “When I was young, a ship stopped on Sorgan to make emergency repairs. There was a group of people on board carrying medical supplies to a crash site. The one man, really a boy, no older than I was, told me these stories about setting up moisture vaporators in deserts and tending to the injured on war torn planets, about trying to do what was right and looking out for all who needed them,” he can see the memories in her eyes. She summarizes, “I would have followed him anywhere. I committed to the cause. I thought my life had a greater purpose than farming krill, I thought I could change the galaxy. I believed it so much that I ran away with them, completely against the will of my family.”

Din stops working, holding still, listening because much of the story is told on her face.

She continues, “At first we did those wonderful things that I’d heard about. We brought water to the thirsty, carried supplies across wastelands, built shelters for those whose homes were destroyed... I wanted nothing more than to be part of their group. They insisted we be trained, telling us it was because we were working in dangerous places, that I had to defend myself and those we helped. Since they trusted me, I was moved to increasingly important tasks. The fighting was gradual at first, exchanges of fire, but the training became more intensive, and our jobs seemed less about helping others and more about these small scale attacks to deliver supplies. I began to notice other things, realizing the humanitarian missions were a cover to move contraband, and sometimes wanted fugitives...we were bringing more than rations and building supplies. I started asking questions.”

“How did that go?” 

“Not well. I made plans to leave. I told only one other person, someone I thought I could trust, who I thought would come with me. But the next mission we went on, I was used as a distraction and left behind, badly wounded.”

“They left you to die?”

She nods. “Oddly enough, that ultimately saved my life. The ship that left me behind was shot down.”

Din grunts his approval at the justice of this.

“I was brought back to health by complete strangers, people who truly wanted to help others. When I was able,” she continues, the pain of this still carried with her, “I crawled back to Sorgan, humiliated, broken, and...pregnant."

Din wonders if her child’s father was one of the manipulated, or one of the manipulators, but that secret is Omera’s to keep or share as she chooses.

“I’m sure your family was pleased you returned,” he says.

“Some were. Some weren’t, but in time, they welcomed me back. I stopped dreaming of other worlds and greater things, told myself I would stay on Sorgan, I would be happy farming krill, looking after travelers. I swore I’d protect my child, keep her there, keep her safe, that she’d never see the horrors I saw. Unfortunate that I couldn’t keep her safe. Even there.”

“She’s lived a more peaceful life than most,” he says.

“You once told me your parents were killed.”

He nods.

“We’ve all suffered,” she says, her eyes going to their children.

“They’re doing okay.”

“Are they?” she asks. 

After watching them, he adds, “They have each other. They have us. They’re fine.”

She hopes that’s true. 

The warning bells ring out that they’re nearly at their fueling stop.

* * *

Just before picking up the supplies, Winta leaves Grogu’s side to help Omera prepare, and Din notices the way his son’s shoulders drop when they’re gone. “What is it?” Din asks. “Is this a bad place to stop?”

“Fine, it is,” Grogu answers.

“What's wrong?”

“So much sadness, anger. In Omera. In Winta. In you.”

“I’m not sad,” Din argues, dropping to a knee to speak to him. 

Grogu grumbles and presses with surprising strength against Din’s chestplate. “Anger. Revenge. Dangerous paths.”

Din begins to dispute this, thinking Grogu is really confused this time. But his son waits, watching patiently. And Din feels it, a pit of anger deep in his chest, anger at what had happened to Winta, rage at those who betrayed Omera, fury over the way the son that he loves was hunted down and treated as an object to be used and tossed aside. And as he comes to realize all of this, something he hadn’t even noticed before, Grogu hums in affirmation. 

Grogu whispers, “Hatred, revenge...cures for pain and sorrow...they are not.”

* * *

Omera is the only one to leave the ship, meeting up with another Mandalorian, Din’s contact, as she procures their supplies and pays the fees. She also hands off a message from Din to others back on Mandalore. Waiting inside while she leaves the ship feels like cowardice to Din, but he doesn’t want to be the reason why they are discovered either. He stands just inside, weapons ready in case a fight finds them here. But they leave without incident.

With a packed ship, they resume their trip to the abandoned covert. He hopes there, far from everything else, all four of them can have a little time to recover, that Grogu and Winta can enjoy a few days of youthfulness, and they can all try to figure out what the future holds. 

He sits back as everyone eats together (although he’ll wait until later when Winta is sleeping), seeing the way his impersonal ship is warmer like this, with games and meals at tables and occasionally even laughter. Omera has helped bring this to him...a feeling of home in a place where there wasn’t one before. She has brought him comfort and affection even though she’s experienced the coldness and violence of the world first hand. He’s not really sure why she trusts him. 

All throughout the next day, he thinks of this and of Grogu’s words.

On the last night of the flight before the more dangerous final path into the Unknown Regions, Din decides he wants to do something for Omera, to care for her as she often cares for others. After Winta and Grogu are sleeping, Omera disappears into the ‘fresher to shower, which gives him time to prepare. When he hears her step out of the unit, he comes down, waving for her to follow him up. He’s a little flustered by the thin clothes she intends to sleep in, loose, flowy white shorts and a long shirt.

“Is something wrong?” she asks as they make it to the cockpit. 

“No. I thought you might like to sit here for a while and relax since it’s our last night of travel before things get complicated,” he says, pointing at some blankets and things he tried to arrange like the one she’d set up for the kids. “I know you like to look out at space. You haven’t had much time to since you’re always doing something.”

Din feels awkwardly out of his comfort zone, like a Bantha performing at the Mon Calamari Ballet, but he’s going to do this anyway. He’s so unfamiliar with how to act, what to say, how to bring comfort and maybe even a little romance to someone important to him.

He’s not sure if she’ll like it or if this is a terrible way to go about it, but she smiles as she looks at the bedding and then back outside, and she says, “This is nice.” She sits near the middle of the cozy spot, her knees tented in front of her, arms wrapped around them. She looks around like she’s waiting for something, and asks, “Are you going to join me?”

He bobs his head, taking off his helmet and going to her, and she suggests, “You should relax, too. Can you take off more of that armor, at least for a little while?”

“Uhhh...sure,” he replies, removing nearly all of it, leaving his black clothes beneath. She watches with quiet fascination as he removes the various pieces.

She chuckles a bit, and he asks, "What?"

"You look so different without it."

From the provisions they had brought on board, he opens a bottle of strong cider and hands it to her before sitting down beside her. It’s a different vantage point, down on the floor, lights low, and seats standing tall above. He leans against the wall behind him, situating himself quite close to her. She shifts a bit until her shoulder is next to his, almost in front of it. They pass the cider back and forth, knowing that they can’t drink to excess, but appreciating the relaxation that comes with a little indulgence. 

In some ways, casual conversation is now more difficult than showing his face, but he knows he’d like to do something to bring her joy. So he tells her about exactly how fond Grogu is of eggs, and how the Child made a terrible babysitter for a Frog Lady and her spawn. Omera listens to every word, laughing heartily at the story. 

His story leads to one of hers, and back to one of his, and little, casual touches are shared increasingly. As time passes, she moves closer until her shoulder and part of her back is fully propped against his chest. 

While she’s talking and they stare out into space, he wraps his arm around her, far more terrified of rejection than he’d ever admit. But she acts as if this is perfectly normal, and when she leans toward him rather than away, he holds her a little more tightly. 

He can feel the warmth of her through his meager coverings, and becomes familiar with the rise and fall of her body as she breathes. He finds she has the widest smile he’s ever seen her have, her face lightly dappled with the lights from stars and machinery. She’s stunning. Rather than finding it hard to speak, he finds it difficult _not_ to tell her just how beautiful she is.

“Why did you do this for me?" she asks when there’s a lull in the conversation. 

In truth, he hasn’t really done much, not nearly as much as he feels like he should do, but the effort means something to her. 

Answering her question isn’t easy. “There is suffering in every life. We can't ever completely escape it. I know that as well as anyone. But that’s not _all_ there is. I’ve been reminded of that recently.” 

He props the empty bottle near them, reaches both arms around her body and takes her hand. He starts to massage it the way she had for him when he was nearly too tired to sleep, showing her a comforting touch. Her body relaxes against his as she watches the way his larger hands work over hers. 

“You’ve made me feel…” he pauses, trying to say enough, but not too much, “things I haven’t felt in a long time. Some things I’ve never felt…”

“You’ve made me feel things, too,” she whispers, her voice soft and a little raspy. “Things I thought I never wanted to feel again.”

She turns and faces him, her hand coming to rest on his chest for the first time without beskar between them. He wants to act, to touch her and kiss her, but can’t decide if he should. He doesn't want her to think he's only done this to receive gratification in return.

“What?” she asks, studying him, “What are you thinking?”

“Nothing, I just…”

“You what?” she insists.

His voice lowers, “I want…” she nods, but won’t make it easy on him. So he finally says, “I want to kiss you again.” And it comes out just right, a little seductive, and he sees her slight shiver.

He thinks it might be enough to get her to act (she’s been the one who instigates this types of contact), but she doesn’t. She glances at his lips before focusing on his eyes, and she says, “Well…are you gonna do something about that?” 

His lips meet hers in the next second, his actions becoming less tentative as the things they’re doing become more familiar. There is something infinitely exciting about this woman and the way she challenges him. There is tenderness between them, but it doesn’t tame the desire that grows by the moment. 

He pauses for a few breaths, staying so close his nose is next to hers. She gently touches his lips and whispers, “Can I tell you something?” she waits for his nod and continues, “I like the way you kiss.”

“Yea?” he asks, feeling relieved.

“Yes.”

After a moment of thought, he notes, “That makes sense.”

She laughs at what sounds like boasting as she says, “You’re very confident.”

He shakes his head, “That wasn’t what I meant.”

“What did you mean then?” she smirks.

“I meant...I learned from you. So I only know…” he pauses, realizing he probably wouldn't have said this if he’d been thinking clearly, “...the way you do it.”

“Oh.”

He points at the helmet on his chair and says, “I've been very faithful to my creed.”

“There are things far more important than experience.”

“I do know how to do other things…” he says in his own defense. 

“What sorts of things?” she asks, her lips brushing his, her fingers against his chest in a way that’s very distracting. 

“I could show you some time.”

A smile flickers on her face. “I’d like that."

The figurative barriers between them can’t seem to hold on much longer, and begin to crack under the pressure. Her lips meet his hungrily, her leg sliding over his so she’s kneeling across his lap. His arms wrap around her body, pulling her close to him, feeling the heat, the inviting press of her breasts to his chest with only cloth between, yet another unfamiliar sensation.

His self-control, something he’s largely mastered in all things, is hard to find here, slipping away in a fog of desire. She tugs up the bottom of his shirt, not so much to remove it as to touch him, her fingers finding the skin on his stomach and sides that hasn’t been touched by anyone else in a long time. So his hands refuse to resist sliding under her shirt, his palms smoothing up the sides of her back and pushing her toward him. The softness of her skin is intoxicating. She’s seated on his thighs, but as they move against each other, she’s sliding ever closer to his already aching cock. 

Moving one palm to the front of her, wanting to caress every bit of her he can reach, she momentarily pauses when he runs his touch down her left side. He knows the feeling of scarred flesh. He stops, pressing a reassuring kiss to her lips when he asks, “Still sensitive?”

“No,” she shakes her head. "Healed long ago.”

So he traces the edges of the lengthy scar with genuine gentleness and care, finding that it starts at her hip and continues up over her ribs. When she’d been wounded, she probably didn’t have access to proper medical care or bacta. She is very lucky she survived this.

He comes in close again, delicately kissing the line of her collarbone and then her neck, feeling the momentary resistance she showed when he found her scar vanishing with each touch. He wants her to know she is cared for.

She gazes down at him, her eyes so full of affection and trust. 

Din knows that scar is probably related to the story she told him, likely a constant reminder of the ways others have harmed her and broken her trust. He says the one thing he most wants her to know: “I will never betray you.” It's a vow.

"I'd never betray you either,” she answers with equal certainty, swallowing roughly. 

“I don’t want to cause you pain,” he adds, the words almost sticking in his throat. "I want...to make you feel other things, pleasant things." The gasped out moan that leaves her lips when she hears those words while he palms her breast and his thumb drags across her nipple is almost too well-timed. The sounds of her pleasure strike him hard, but he sweetly smirks at her, teasing, “It’s been a little while for me...That was a good sound, right?”

Her cheeks flush as she replies, “Yes.” She nods, tucking in closer, nuzzling her nose against him, kissing his neck at just the right spots to work him up.

His hands slip down her back and grab onto her ass to pull her to him. Although they’re both still mostly clothed, when she slides against him, he can feel the heat at the meeting of her thighs against his erection. He hasn’t been hard like _this_ in ages, but he doesn’t think he’s ever wanted anyone like this either.

Din may be out of practice, but he knows how to listen, adapt, and respond. His hands move up her thighs, pressing into the muscles as she rocks her hips against him, creating friction he can hardly take. His fingers move around to the inside of her thigh, and he feels her own anticipation in the way she tightly holds onto his shoulders. 

She rises enough to slip out of her shorts before returning to his lap. The tips of his fingers climb higher until they finally meet the softness of her sex, pressing against her and finding the wetness that overflows from the parting of her folds. She's not just wet, she's soaked. He’s spurred on by the evidence of her desire for him, at her body’s response to him and the things they're doing. 

His whole body, his entire self, is tight with yearning, seeking more. She angles her hips toward him, urging him to continue, and he wants nothing more than to bring her the pleasure she deserves. Eagerly accepting this invitation, his fingers explore her cunt, finding the slickness of her addictively inviting. 

He allows just one finger to find her clit, to skate through the moisture that allows him to slide so easily. He’s cautious, watching, learning, trying to figure out if she craves fast flicks or smooth circles as every molecule within him screams for her. 

She grabs his wrist roughly, and he thinks she’s going to pull him away, but she traps his hand against her, wordlessly pleading for him to remain as her hips rock toward him.

With his other arm around her to hold her close, he seeks the depths of her, turning his hand palm up and sinking two fingers into her core. She clenches down as he penetrates her, her fluids coating him. When he pushes inside her, he makes sure his palm presses against the front of her, nudging the bundle of nerves on the outside while filling her inside. 

Her excitement builds, her quim pulsing around his fingers as she gets closer to orgasm. She kisses him with furtive desire as she nears the peak, then hides her face against his neck. 

“Hey…” he whispers. “Hey,” he says again when she doesn’t respond, lifting his shoulder to get her attention. 

She looks at him, arousal evident all over her face. She can’t even ask what he wants, her gasps and moans her only response as she holds onto him.

He firmly states, “I want to watch you come.”

Her eyebrows draw tightly together, her mouth opening as she cries out, the words exciting her in yet another way. Her hips snap forward, riding his hand, her lips meeting his in a wildly desirous kiss until her climax seizes her, and all she can do is breathe against his mouth and rock against his hand and make the most satisfied little sounds. He pushes once more, fully into her, and she practically squeals with pleasure as she holds his wrist again to make sure he doesn’t abandon her sex.

It all suddenly becomes too much for her, and she tries to pull his hand away from her, and he urges, “Wait. Please.”

She allows him to stay within her, but he doesn’t move too much, just remains against her and inside her, his fingers providing counter pressure for the gradually slowing pulses as she coasts back down from that high.

Her pleasure makes him feel powerful in an unfamiliar way. None of his previous encounters had been anything like this, so personal, close, intimate. And even now, when he finally slips out of her body, he does so reluctantly. 

As much as he wants (needs) some relief, he holds her against him patiently, and tries to calm his urges with his mind. He doesn't expect anything more from her, although he certainly craves more. It's hard to forget his condition when her body is still warm and inviting against him.

Her eyes open and find his, and she makes him fall even harder for her.

She lifts his shirt and her hands roam his body. She moves down his torso, fingers skating over muscles and scars, gradually coming closer to his sex in a way that excites him, but requires patience he barely has left in him. 

When she finally opens his trousers and undergarments, his head drops back and hits the wall behind him in relief. Her fingers wrap around his straining cock and stroke a little too lightly, just enough to make him desperately require more. He watches her with what little light he has, sees the way she’s touching him like he needs to confirm it’s real, then he has to look away because it’s too much. His chest vibrates as he groans when she swipes her thumb over the head of his dick and then strokes down with a little more pressure. “It’s been a while for me, too,” she whispers, echoing his earlier words, “That was a good sound, right?”

His eyes plead as he nods, unable to joke, unable to do much except be there with her. His hips lift from the floor as she strokes him. Her weight is still on his thighs, the undeniable presence of her at his front, and as wonderful as this feels, it takes every last bit of self-restraint he has to fight the urge to roll her under him and plunge into her. 

She stops touching him for a moment, reaching between her legs and gathering her wetness and then wrapping her fingers around him again. Her hand slides more easily, her body’s lubrication helping his dick to slide through her hands. He takes hold of her hips, pulling her toward him. She leans close, her lips near his ear, and she whispers, “One day, I want to know what it feels like to have you...” she tightens her grip, “...deep inside me."

“Me too,” he pants, just on the brink of satisfaction. His eyes meet hers, his senses overwhelmed by the beauty of her face and the excitement on it, coupled with the talented strokes of her hands. And he looks at her until he absolutely can’t anymore, until blinding white bliss fires behind his eyes as all of that coiled tension releases in hot bursts into her hand. 

His head lowers to her shoulder as he holds her tightly, thoroughly devoid of the pressure that consumed him only moments ago. Kissing his temple, she whispers, "Back in a moment," before she finds her shorts and steps away. 

He tucks himself back into his trousers and fastens them, hoping Omera’s okay with the things that have transpired and doesn't feel regret. He looks at his armor and thinks about putting it all back on.

When she returns, she drops right back on his lap, sitting across him as he folds her into an embrace. "You okay?" he asks.

"Mmhmm," she purrs, then lifts her head, "are you?" 

He nods with a thoroughly relaxed sigh. When she rests her head on him and starts to doze, he holds her, soaks in the closeness between them, and decides his armor can wait a little longer. 


	4. New World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who have stuck with this story! I hope it's not moving along too slowly. As always, thanks so much for reading! Your comments and likes are so very appreciated.

**Part IV: New World**

After sleeping by Din’s side for a short while, Omera gets up, whispering to him that she should go down below deck with the younger ones. She wakes when Winta and Grogu are looking for their next meal, and she laughs as she says, “I hope there’s plentiful game and edible vegetation on this planet. With the way you two eat, our supplies won’t last!”

Din comes down from the cockpit and adds, “Plenty of that, but no packaged rations. Have to save those for the return flight. Our food there won't come in pouches. We’ll have to work for it.”

He walks past Omera, and although he doesn’t really seem any different, he pauses, his hand resting on her back for only a second or two in a subtly affectionate gesture. But Winta sees, studying her mother and Din before she laughs and says to Grogu, “How dare they expect the Prince of Mandalore to do common labor?”

Grogu plays along, speaking like he’s giving an official declaration, “Yes. Serve me you will.”

“Maybe my mother can make you clothing worthy of royalty.”

“What?” Din asks as he passes by. 

Winta argues, “If you’re the king, and he’s your son, is he not the prince?”

Din shakes his head like this topic is ridiculous as Omera turns to him for answers, asking, “What are they talking about?”

“It’s not like that,” Din replies, moving an access panel to check some gauges and monitors, clearly trying to avoid this discussion.

Winta looks at Grogu and says, “I knew you were lying.”

“I do not,” Grogu replies stubbornly. He looks at his father and says, “Have you the Darksaber?”

“Yea,” Din evenly answers. 

“Can I see it?” Winta asks. 

“Maybe later.”

“So you are a king then?” Winta pushes.

“No. We don’t call it that. And there’s some dispute over how we determine who leads.”

“We would have been as rich as kings if Mama would have married that merchant,” Winta mentions, watching the adults for a reaction. “Remember him, Mama? He was handsome for someone so old.”

“Eat your breakfast,” Omera replies, getting the distinct impression that her teen is instigating.

“I can’t remember...why didn’t we go?” Winta asks, a little smile playing on her mouth.

“I have no desire whatsoever to live on Coruscant,” Omera replies. Then she nods toward Grogu and warns Winta, “Better eat your food before he does.”

“Mando, do you have a palace?” Winta asks, before taking a bite.

He scoffs, “Mandalore is a wasteland. It’s taken years just to create habitable enclaves for those who have survived and returned.”

“So what do you do as the one who has the special saber?” 

“I...do what I’ve always done. Take jobs, try to get enough credits and resources to pay for the things we need to survive, and I locate coverts and others of my kind who’ve been scattered all over the galaxy.”

“Know how to use this Darksaber?” Grogu asks.

“Mostly I just stop outsiders from taking it,” Din explains. “There are Mandalorians more suited to rule, ones who should have it. But they won’t take it, and won’t challenge me for it. I’d gladly yield it to them.”

Omera’s back is turned from him as she’s restacking the unused rations, but she says, “Often the best leaders are those who don’t want power or prestige.”

Before Din can respond, Grogu says, eyes wide with excitement, “The saber. Can teach you.”

Din tilts his head and waits. “It’s not a toy.”

“Training I’ve had.”

“I don’t have any Force-sensitivity like you do.” 

“Have intuition, you do. Observation. Experience in battle.” Grogu bobs his head like a decision has been made. “Teach you.”

“Maybe,” Din says, “for now, we need to worry about getting to our stop safely.”

“What do you need us to do?” Omera asks, turning her attention to him.

“This next part of our trip is going to be bumpy. Everyone should be belted in.”

“Okay,” Omera says. Looking at the kids, she insists, “Finish up, and get ready.”

“I’ll need some time to make sure my calculations are still good from the last few trips, and then we’ll get started.”

* * *

Din checks and rechecks the calculations, making sure there aren’t any new asteroids or black holes or other various things it’s really critical to miss. Grogu joins first, sitting very quietly while Din finishes. When the calculations are done, Din sees Grogu waiting in a calm, meditative state.

“Look,” Din says to him, “I know you want to help everyone. Protect us. But I need you to trust me on this.”

“Yes,” Grogu answers.

“It’s very important.”

“Yes.”

“There’s a...shortcut...but it feels a little strange. Don’t try to stop us. Don’t resist it. I’ve done this before.”

“Trust you, I will.”

“Okay.”

It isn’t long before everyone is ready. Grogu and Winta are belted into their seats, chatting happily. Omera is beside Din, a little more pensive and concerned. 

“Every few hours, we’ll take a break,” Din promises, and then takes off.

They spend nearly two days on these types of flights, everyone on board getting weary of this, ready to move about freely again. No one (except Din) is ready for the strange sequence of prepared jumps, or the disconcerting rocking feeling that comes from moving in and out of hyperspace in rapid succession. He and Omera don't have time to talk alone about things they probably should discuss. 

While he makes calculations during a stop, Omera hands a drink of broth to her daughter to soothe her stomach. “It’s not so bad,” Omera says when he sees what she’s doing.

He bobs his head, knowing the worst is still to come. 

When they’re ready, he looks at Omera and the kids and says, “This part is not pleasant. But once we get through it, it won’t be much longer.”

“We’re ready,” Omera replies as she straps back into her seat.

They hop into hyperspace, and suddenly everything outside goes pitch black, completely devoid of light, save one zagging, singular line out ahead, like a frozen bolt of lightning. “What is that?” Omera asks.

“Shortcut,” he replies, and their calculated path takes them right to it. He reminds Grogu one last time, “Don’t resist.”

He’s never quite gotten used to this, to something that feels like his skin is being pulled through into a new place before his organs, but that’s exactly what it feels like. And at the moment when the whole body finally seems to be one again, there’s great propulsion, like the ship and its inhabitants are being slingshotted through. No amount of environmental adjustment on the ship can ameliorate that. Finally, they hit the abrupt halt at the end when the ship finally slows, metal joints and components creaking. 

“Everyone okay?” Din asks. 

Winta’s eyes are enormous, and she looks a bit terrified, but she nods her head and says, “That...was really wild.” Grogu, who rarely seems nervous, looks a bit shaken as well, his hands holding tightly onto the arms of the seat. Omera simply says, “That was...unique.” 

They require only one more jump through hyperspace, a relatively normal piece of travel, and they finally arrive.

* * *

Their trip was long and tiring, but when they look down on such a beautiful planet, Omera feels a definite sense of relief. More than half of the planet is full of the colors of life, bright blue water, verdant green land. There appear to be some orangish-pink desert lands, and snow caps as well. This place has promise.

They finally land, and Din runs some scans to monitor their surroundings, and says, “Everything looks good.”

“Can we go out?” Winta asks. 

“Your mother and I should probably check the covert, make sure no one has moved in since we last left. And I’ll need to get the power up and running. You two stay here.”

“We can come with you,” Winta says immediately, her voice betraying her fear. So far they’ve all been in close proximity, the girl surrounded by two battle-capable adults and her deceptively powerful friend at her side. At the first thought of branching out, it becomes clear that maybe she’s more rattled by her recent ordeal than it had seemed. 

Omera’s face is written with worry, and Din says, “I guess we could all go. But you’ll have to stay back, behind us. Do what we say so we can keep you safe.” He looks at Omera, “What do you think?”

“Yes,” she agrees. Looking at Winta, she adds, “Follow instructions. No questions asked, no _comments_ either.”

Winta’s head bobs as she looks out the view window for signs of trouble.

Since this covert was far from anyone else, those who lived here had more of a life above ground than in many other places. There’s living space on the upper levels, although their armorer and training centers were all below the surface, accessed only by a hidden door. 

When the ramp opens, the air is warm but there’s a strong breeze that tests the strength of the trees, vegetation, and winged creatures that fly against it. Winta carries Grogu on her back in his beskar pouch, which Din figures would at least provide some protection to both if any attack were to occur.

He opens the main door to the covert. He knows the air is stale by listening to his companions, although his helmet’s environmental filters don’t allow him to notice it for himself. 

This is a stronghold, nearly impenetrable for someone without the access code, so once they clear it, they’ll have a place to feel safe. The first few rooms are all empty, looking almost lonely, forgotten. Down one wing are sleeping quarters, similar to those of his youth, each with simple bunks and solar lights for those who occupied them. These aren’t the homey, comfortable rooms Omera and Winta are used to on Sorgan, but they’ll serve their purposes. He’s pretty sure this place will feel a lot more like home once the new occupants settle in.

Winta seems to relax as they near the end of their search, staying close to those who are armed, but beginning to talk again as she and Grogu make plans for which of the rooms they want. The group of four arrive in the cantine, the last room to check. Grogu hops down out of his pack to explore for himself as Din and Omera check the remaining cupboards.

A loud sound of crashing metal clangs from behind a door closest to Winta, and she freezes, consumed by fear. It takes only a second for Din to step between the young woman and the noise, quickly moving her behind him as he faces the closet. The girl, tucked behind him, has an unrelenting grip on his non-blaster bearing arm. He remembers being so full of fear once long ago.

In full bounty hunter tone, he says with authority, “Think very carefully about your next move,” toward the noise. “The wrong choice...and this day will be your last.” 

They can all hear rustling, but no real response. He nods for Grogu to come take Winta, and the Child reaches for her hand. She has trouble letting go of Din’s arm, but she steps back with her friend and they go behind Omera, who also has her weapon trained on the door. 

Din signals that he’s going to open it once they’re ready. Popping the door open as he and Omera wait, he’s faced with a closet full of heavy pots and other cooking vessels, and begins to search for whatever could have made that noise. Standing very near the top, perched on a pot hung on a nail, is a brightly colored green and orange lizard. Din chuckles, watching Grogu come forward, likely with plans to save the creature for dinner. 

It lifts it’s six-taloned hand, leaving a thick, slimy trail behind, and Din says to Grogu, “That's disgusting. Do not eat that.”

* * *

Later that night, Din is in the control room, trying to get the power system up and running. He’s struggling to hold some components apart while reaching into a narrow channel to make connections in order to bypass a broken turbine, hoping this plan will work. He doesn’t have enough hands to do this, so just as he decides he needs to ask Omera for her assistance, he hears a quiet voice behind him say, “Mando?”

He peers over his shoulder and finds Winta in the doorway. Sometimes she sounds and appears very grown up, and other times, like now, her voice sounds much more like that of a child. Uncertainly, she steps forward. “I can help with that.”

“No,” he answers out of habit, still used to being on his own, adding, “Thank you,” when his response sounds too harsh.

She comes even closer, watching him as he tries one last futile time to do it on his own. “You want to plug that into there?” she points. 

“Yes.”

“My hands are smaller. You could hold that, and I could reach into there—”

“You have to be very careful.”

“I _can_ be very careful,” she insists, crossing her arms, annoyed by his doubt. 

He sighs, feeling like this is a bad idea.

“Fine,” she replies, turning around and walking toward the door. At the last minute, she stops and comes back. Standing right beside him, she says, “I came here to say thank you for helping my mother. She told me how you found her, and then came to get me. And thanks for coming here to keep her safe, and letting me come along.”

He pauses, his visor pointing to her as he nods. “You’re welcome,” he answers somberly. 

“And I’m sorry I got so scared over a stupid lizard,” she says, a sense of shamed embarassment coming over her.

He shakes his head, “You didn’t know what was in there. I've found it's best assume the worst in cases like that.” He thinks the girl should probably be trained to protect herself, but given Omera’s past, he’s not sure how she would feel about that.

Winta smiles a little, then, emboldened, she insists, “So the least I can do is help you with the power since you helped us.”

He shakes his head at her stubbornness. He sighs with frustration when he relents. “Do exactly as I say.”

She nods, pleased to be helping. She rolls up her sleeves and awaits his instructions.

He’s a little surprised by how well she listens to each direction, and by the patient and efficient way she does exactly as she must. As they make the repairs, she begins to ask how things work, and he explains some of what he knows. Once finished, he looks at what she's accomplished and says, “Well done.”

“Thank you,” the girl grins.

“Now we see if it works,” he replies. He goes to the main generator switch, explaining what he’s doing. He turns it over, and after a brief thud and pause, whirring sounds begin, and lights around them start dimly, and then crackle to full brightness. “Very well done,” he says, folding his arms. “Do you apprentice?”

She laughs and shakes her head. “On Sorgan?”

“Everyone needs mechanics. Even on Sorgan.”

“I’m female.”

“And?”

“There aren't many mechanics from Sorgan, but the few we have are not female.”

“My lead mechanic is female. She designed and built my ship.”

“Really?”

He notices Omera standing in the doorway, uncertain how long she’s been there.

“Mama,” Winta says, taking her mother’s hand and showing her the work she’d completed with such a sense of pride. 

“She did well,” he says. “If it’s okay with you, I’ll show her some of the machine work we’ll need to do. She could help with it while we’re here.”

Omera considers, then nods, “I think that’s an excellent idea.”

Winta absolutely beams. 

“Now that we have power, I think we should set up the quarters before it’s late and we’re all too tired,” Omera continues. “Go give Grogu a hand with the bedding.”

Winta hurries off, much happier than before. 

“Thank you...for showing her that,” Omera says.

“She was helpful,” he acknowledges. 

“This is a difficult age. Stuck between childhood and adulthood. I was only a little older than her when I left home.”

“I won’t teach her if you don’t want her to—”

“I do!” Omera interrupts, “I want her to learn. It may help her have a sense of purpose here. Sorgan’s always felt safer, but...her options are limited there. I don’t imagine she’ll want to go back when the time comes. Skills like those could help her wherever she goes.”

Before he can even respond, she leaves to help the others.

They all sleep on their own bedrolls in a large communal room the first night, just to be sure everything is secure and Winta feels safe. 

Din can barely find a moment to say a single word alone to Omera.

* * *

The next day involves a great deal of preparation, getting the covert into working order and unloading supplies. 

Later that night, when the kids are sharing warm broth before bed, Din finds Omera in the ventilation room, cleaning and replacing filters. 

“Need help?” he asks, leaning against the wall by the door, looking up at her, perched on the scaffolds for the upper set of filters.

“Almost done,” she answers.

Silence has never bothered him, but it’s definitely bothering him now. “Everything okay?” he asks.

“Yea. A few of these filters are pretty shot, and there aren’t any new ones left. We’ll have to rig something.”

“Right,” he says. That wasn’t what he’d been asking about. “You’ve been quiet,” he mentions. She doesn’t really answer, not ignoring him, but immersed in her work. So he climbs up on the scaffold with her, helping with a filter screen that was not quite stretched correctly.

“Thanks,” she says, slipping it back into its place before she sits on the edge of the scaffold, feet dangling. 

He takes the spot beside her. “Not a terrible place to lay low,” he notes, hoping she'll soon say whatever she's thinking. 

She nods, and then says, “It’s not.” After a beat, she continues, “But you shouldn’t have left your kind for us. Don’t get me wrong...I appreciate it greatly. But I feel bad for taking you from your duties when—”

“My kind…” he interrupts, thinking about the words.

“Yes.”

“I thought Grogu’s kind were the Jedi, your kind were on Sorgan, and mine were the Mandalorians. All that is true, in some ways. But he’s one of my kind, a member of my clan. And you…” his head lowers and he doesn’t finish the thought aloud, but he sure as hell hopes one day she’ll consider him one of her kind as well.

She smiles, her hand dropping on top of his on the scaffold’s edge, “Maybe for you, ‘your kind’ isn't decided only by geography and religion. Maybe it's defined by those who matter to you.”

He nods, smiling behind his visor. Her understanding emboldens him, and he says, “Those who brought me in, who raised me, instilled these rules that made everything perfectly clear. The Way...was simple because the questions were all answered, all of the decisions were made, I just had to follow them. Same with The Guild—”

“Bounty hunters guild?”

“Yes. The rules were law. Concise. And both made it known that you didn’t...let others close. You don’t let emotions get in the way. Choices are easier, less complicated, when one doesn’t have personal attachments. Once I left my parents, I wasn't really close to anyone until the Child.”

She seems to understand, but he notes the uncertainty she shows, like maybe she thinks he’ll choose these simpler lifestyles over complicated personal relationships. So he has to continue, whether he wants to or not, “Did you know Grogu was my bounty? I didn’t know it was a child when I took the job. But that’s why I found him. I wasn’t hired to protect him. I was hired to hunt him down and turn him over. No questions asked. I didn’t know it would be so difficult to avoid becoming attached to him.”

She chuckles and agrees, “He is hard not to love.”

“I turned him over to them, convincing myself that not doing so was weakness...failure. That if I just...followed the rules, remained unattached—” he pauses, feeling emotions rising again. He’s done his best not to think about this.

He clears his throat, “But ultimately, I discovered their plan for him was something I could not accept. I couldn’t leave him. I went back and forcibly retrieved him. In doing that, I violated the rules of the Guild, had a price on my head for a while, too. My choice had consequences, for myself, and others.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“I have no regrets. I’ve made more decisions like that since, decisions that went against what I should have done, where I let my attachments to others drive my choices. First Grogu...then leaving everything behind to join you and your daughter, not because I was being paid or it was my duty, but because it was what I wanted to do...what _I..._ had to do.”

He feels her hand tighten on his through the worn leather of his glove. 

“I showed you my face, and that, too, was the right thing to do. Even though it’s the wrong thing based on everything I’ve been taught and have practiced since boyhood. These things don’t follow the rules. But they were the choices I made, the correct choices,” he states, unwilling to accept any counter argument. “I’ve chosen my own path now. My own...way.”

“Some rules should change. I swore I’d never leave Sorgan. Breaking that vow was the right choice.”

“You didn't even want to leave to live a life of wealth on Coruscant?” he teases.

Omera drops her forehead into her hand, “He was very wealthy. And very, very dull and pompous, and...loud.”

“Loud?” he says with a slight chuckle.

“I prefer quiet men,” she replies with a hint of flirtation that’s been largely absent in these busy recent days. Remembering what she was saying, she explains, “Winta only mentioned him because she was teasing me, or maybe pushing me. She’s bright, so I’m sure she’s suspicious about our connection.”

He nods, wanting to know more, so he carefully continues, “She probably doesn’t understand why you vowed to remain on Sorgan. You couldn't leave with him because of your promise to stay there, to keep her safe.”

She laughs, a soft, wry laugh.

“What?” he asks, nudging her elbow with his.

“You know what she said when I turned down his proposal?”

“No.”

“It was one of our biggest arguments. She was angry. She wanted to leave Sorgan. And she asked if I still thought of you. I lied to her, told her she was being ridiculous. But then she told me...that every time I heard a ship, I’d look up at the sky with such hope, only to look disappointed after.”

“Disappointed?”

She turns, biting her lip before she shyly replies, “disappointed that it wasn’t you.” She looks forward, so embarrassed by this disclosure, but she says, “But she was right. I wouldn’t have left...on the off hope that a man I knew for a few short weeks, whose face I’d never seen and name I didn’t know...may come back one day.” Her eyes lift to his, nervous and hopeful. “I know how foolish it sounds.”

“I could have found you on Sorgan or on Coruscant. Anywhere,” he says, knowing by her expression that his words are the right ones.

“I’m sure you could. But would you have?” she asks. “If Grogu wouldn’t have come to you and told you—”

“Yes,” he answers without a hint of doubt. “I'm set in my ways, slow to change, but I’ve thought, _hoped_ , that our paths would cross again one day. Might have taken me a little longer.”

“That’s a nice thought.”

Then he adds, “Of course if you went, I’d have to kill the merchant, so…” Her eyes widen as he explains, “I'm joking. I’m not...good at humor.”

She breathes a little laugh, leaning her shoulder to his. “It’s the modulator,” she explains, “everything sounds a little more menacing. And soothing and seductive at the same time. It's a very confusing combination.”

Their disclosures hang in the air, heavy all around them, like they’re both so close to much bigger confessions. He’s drawn to her in a way that he can’t resist, and now that he doesn’t want to resist, it’s only more difficult.

The sound of Winta and Grogu talking echo from far down the metallic hall, not near, but still present.

Din whispers to Omera, “I want to be alone with you again...like we were that night on the ship.”

When she hops up, he’s certain he’s offended her by the speed with which she rises. But she reaches down for his hand, and when he takes it, they walk down the narrow scaffolding and through the rows of filters, slipping between two large cylinders to a darkened area behind them and into another machine room. 

Not exactly what he’d meant, but at least some privacy. Her adoring gaze makes him forget anything else. Her arms wrap around his shoulders and she waits for him. He assumes she’s waiting for him to act first, and without a second’s hesitation he leans in toward her. She pulls back a little and says, “This isn’t going to work,” in a way that is so kind and sweet that it makes the sudden rejection hurt even more. Before he can ask if she means the room or a relationship, she taps a knuckle on his helmet to remind him he’s wearing it.

“Oh, yea. Right,” he says, his voice changing as the helmet leaves his head and he goes immediately to her, hardly able to put it down fast enough.

She kisses him roughly, not the type of tender and affectionate kiss they’d first shared, but a passionate and lusty one. She nips at his bottom lip and he pushes her against the wall as she moans so softly it can only be heard because he’s right against her. 

Her arms tighten around his neck, and she lifts higher, her body tightly pinned between his and the wall. He’s nowhere near close enough to her, but his hands follow her back down over the swell of her ass. When she hops up, he grabs her thighs, pulling them around his waist, but he’s surrounded by a shell and belt and gear that make it impossible to get closer. And yet they’re too drawn together to stop long enough to do anything to fix that. He’s able to get his hands under her shirt, still separated by leather gloves that stop him from touching her the way he wants to. 

He reaches for the clasp on her trousers and manages to get them open, pausing long enough to pinch the ends of the fingers of his glove in his teeth and nearly pull it off. And just then, they hear the younger ones shouting for them in the hall. Keeping one arm around her, he rolls away so he, too, is leaning against the wall beside her. Both are completely breathless, lips red from kissing, skin warm with excitement.

“Mama?” Winta shouts as they enter the room below and adjacent. 

Omera leans out of the little room they’re in and shouts, “Changing filters. Be there in a minute, we’re almost finished,” as she fastens up her pants and fixes her shirt.

Din stares up the ceiling, muttering, "Nowhere near finished.”

Omera giggles softly, and the sound is so pleasant that he really wants to be good at humor. 

As they hear the others’ footsteps disappear down the hall, she leans close to him, her lips touching his ear as she whispers, “I could come to your room tonight. If that’s okay with y—”

“It’s very okay with me,” he interrupts. 

“Once we're sure they’re settled for the night.”


	5. Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the final chapter of this story before I posted chapter 1 (because I didn’t want to start posting a story that I didn’t know how to finish), but I’m going to add some more in between chapters than I’d originally planned. I’m enjoying writing this, so I figured, why not? Thank you all! I’m truly honored that some of you out there are reading this, and I appreciate you all so very much!

**Part V: Alone**

Later in the evening, Din and Omera sit at a table and she teaches him how to play the game from Sorgan that Winta and Grogu often play. It’s not easy to sit across from her with her looking at him like this without throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her to his room. That’s exactly the impulse he’s constantly trying to keep at bay. 

She’s flirting so subtly, reaching across the table to teach him about the game, touching his hand, threading her fingers through his, or sliding her foot forward to rest her calf against his leg. She keeps these touches hidden from view, a secret shared by them alone. He can’t possibly focus on some meaningless game. 

With those subtle contacts and the looks she gives and the promise of things to come, he feels like night can't come soon enough. 

* * *

The two younger ones fall asleep earlier than they often do, remaining near each other as they have every night since being reunited. Din left to shower and clean and maintain his armor a while ago when Omera’s secretive touches seemed to get the better of him.

She sits alone, trying to be silent so as to not wake those who sleep. Without a chore to busy her hands, alone with her thoughts, she waits to be sure the younger ones won’t wake. In the stillness, quiet, and darkness, her nerves rise. It was easier when she’d thought less and let her impulses drive her actions.

She pauses by the room shared by the younger ones, peering in, seeing the two of them completely unaware of the world around them, soundly resting. 

Omera feels far more nervous than she wishes she did as she goes to Din’s room. He told her to come when she was ready, whenever she was sure they were asleep, and also “as soon as possible.” As eager as she is to be with him, she can’t help but remember exactly how long it’s been since she’s sought a man’s company like this. 

She can’t help but wonder about what kinds of encounters are available on the outer reaches of the galaxy and beyond, what sorts of exotic pleasures one may find so far from civilization.

She swallows her nerves and punches in the code to enter his room. He’s near the back of his rooms, the door to his refresher open as he stands in front of a sink and finishes shaving, leaving only his mustache. The man has nothing at all on but a pair of loosely secured pants that hang low on his hips. 

"They asleep already?” he asks, splashing plenty of water on his face before drying it off with a towel.

“Want me to come back later?” she offers.

He shakes his head, “Stay.”

“All that hard work and they both passed out right away. If we ever want a night alone again, we’ll have to make sure they have plenty of chores,” she says with a smile, her eyes pouring over him.

He is very nice to look at. He’s slimmer without all of his layers, shorter without boots and a helmet, muscular from days of labor and combat. 

He is covered in marks and scars from old wounds, and fading bruises across a large portion of his chest and ribs, and that makes her wonder about what he faced just before he reappeared in her life. 

He comes out into the bedroom, taking only a few steps toward her. She asks the first question that comes to her mind, her voice showing her nervousness, “Do you always shave?”

“Usually. Unless circumstances make it impossible.”

“Why bother if your face is hidden?”

“Do you have any idea how itchy that is?” he says, scratching his jaw like the memory alone causes discomfort. “All that hair pushed against my face inside my helmet.”

She giggles softly, “I didn’t think about that.”

And he could get away with that answer only, but he looks to the side like he’s visiting a memory. “I used to watch my father do that,” he admits, and she senses the little shared connection to someone long gone in that memory. He shrugs, letting her see a piece of hidden sentimentality. It only makes her care for him more, those secrets he carries within him, those pieces of humanity he's spent most of his life obscuring from view. 

He reaches back behind him, tossing the towel over the sink before he looks down, eyes lingering on her, taking in the sight of her in her nightdress. Just as he’s going to come even closer, she abruptly says, “You said it’s been a while since you’ve been with anyone? I mean apart from...the things we did the other day?”

He nods. 

She continues, "I don't know what your definition of ‘a while’ is. For me...it's measured in years, not days or seasons.”

“Same,” he replies, both amused and empathetic to her nervousness. He looks over toward his shirt like he's wondering if he should retrieve it, but he doesn’t yet. Both with understanding and a hint of disappointment that he can't quite hide, he says, “We don’t have to do anything tonight if you don’t want to. You can stay here and we can just—”

“Oh no,” she argues a bit too loudly, then lowering her voice, “it isn’t that. I really want to have sex with you!”

Her directness surprises him. “I do, too.”

“I don’t think you understand just how much I—”

“I think I have a pretty good idea of how much,” he counters knowingly.

“I know you’ve been all over the galaxy, out of it, even, and I’m just not sure what you’re used to, what you want, what you like—”

“I’m not really ' _used to'_ much of anything.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Not the words I would use,” he replies, making her chuckle. “As for what I want,” he says, stepping slowly as he closes the distance between them, her heart pounding in her chest. Standing so near that her breasts touch his chest when she breathes in, he adds, “I want us to have time together, alone, to make each other feel really, really good.”

Pulses of excitement shoot between her thighs. His words are hard to argue with, her nerves fluttering away as she’s distracted by the temptation of him. “I want that, too.”

“As to what I like…” he pauses, lifting the sides of her nightdress and gathering it up, pausing to make sure she doesn’t object before he takes it off and tosses it away. She has nothing on beneath, and she can see how that excites him. He’s touched her before, had glimpses of her, but has never seen her like this. His voice lowers, “I like the way I feel when you touch me, and the way you feel when I touch you. I like the way you look, and the sounds you make when I do something you enjoy.”

Her fingers splay up his chest as his arm wraps around her, his hand on her back, bringing her closer.

She hangs on each word, each sensation. He brings his knuckle to her chin, tilting her face so she's looking right at him before he says, “Mostly though, what I want, and what I like is…” his eyes meet hers with a bit of vulnerability that seems so far away from the man she first met, “...you."

Men who have loudly and directly declared their love to her have never made her feel as cared for as he does now. His words are simple, direct, but most of all she knows he says them because they’re true.

“And I, you,” she says, and he smiles, nudging her nose with his. 

He can’t resist stepping back a little to let his eyes pour over the very body he's longed for and his hands have explored. She is, without doubt, absolutely breathtaking. 

He slowly exhales like he’s steadying himself, calming racing thoughts. Without the slightest hint of exaggeration in his tone, he says, “You are beautiful.”

“So are you,” she replies, holding his face as he comes back toward her. 

He dismisses this compliment, arguing, “But you are—,” his words swallowed up when she kisses him, pulling him in so there’s little between them. 

Everything quickly veers out of control, impulses more than thoughts guiding their actions as passions rise, fears and worries quickly being forgotten. She feels his erection against her, and she opens his pants and lets them fall to the floor, each entirely bare now, nothing to hide behind. 

Her hands slip around him, grabbing the backs of his hips and pulling him toward her as she kisses him, enjoying the feeling of their bodies flush against each other. Enjoyment changes to impatience, and she reaches between them and palms his sex. He grunts in response, full of urgency, then takes her wrists and holds them to his chest. He shakes his head as she provokes, “You don't want me?”

“You know I do.” He promises, "Soon." He brings her wrists together, firmly holding both against his chest with one hand so the other has the freedom to roam.

He keeps her there as he watches and touches, and she can feel the way she's fully and truly desired. His hand moves up her ribs, cupping her breast, his thumb circling her nipple. He draws a line down the center of her body, coming to the tops her thighs and tracing her sex, watching her expression the entire time. 

She’s so incredibly excited already, years of pent up desires marrying with the longing she has for this one particular person. He slips between her folds and strokes her slowly, following her like he’s riding the waves of her reactions, doing his best to tantalize without taking her too close to the edge. 

But great stores of patience aren’t available to either, so when she slips her wrists from beneath his hand and wraps her arms around him, lifting toward him, he picks her up, his arms cradling her, her legs around his hips, her sex against his belly. He has to angle his head up and stretch to kiss her, her breasts near his face. 

He looks toward one, licking his lips and then glancing up at her like he needs permission, like he’s not really certain he’s allowed to do such things. She grabs the back of his head and brings his mouth to her nipple. He begins sucking softly, but as her fingers tighten at the back of his head and she urges him to continue, he sucks a little harder.

His mouth, so soft and warm, paired with the devoted laving of his tongue, makes her think of how it would feel to have his face buried between her thighs, and that sends another wave of arousal all through her. She rocks her hips toward him like she needs more relief, more contact, more friction, more of him.

He carries her to his bunk, kneeling on it and sitting her on the tops of his thighs. She lifts and takes his cock in her hand, sliding down his body until his sex meets hers, and their bodies slowly meld together. He groans as he pushes into her as she gasps as she takes him in, sharing pleasure neither has felt for some time. 

They pause briefly, sharing those feelings as they become one before the urges to continue become too much to resist.

She starts moving first, lifting away and finding him again with shallow movements that very quickly become longer and more furtive. He follows her lead, accepting the pace she sets.

He keeps her on top of him, one arm around her, facilitating her movements, one hand free to touch her as he wishes, his body rising to meet hers each time she comes back to him. The tension in him grows, his expression determined as his thrusts grow rougher and faster to match hers. 

His control is clearly held by a bare thread, and she’s already forgone such things. He takes a breath like he did earlier, with a slow exhale, clearly a learned calming practice. 

He rests that free hand low on her tummy between them, his thumb against her clit, making damn sure she’s taken care of. 

She cries out as her climax surges in an unavoidable wave, and he tries to stifle her sounds with his mouth, but neither slows just yet. He’s strong, fit, and he rises up on his knees and flips her under him as she holds onto him like nothing could cause her to let go. They hardly break their stride as he plunges into her and she pushes up against him, her fingers clinging to his back and shoulder. She tightens around him, her insides grasping him and clenching down in the final throes of pleasure, and he finally lets go of any of the control he’s fought to keep, trying to join her as his culmination strikes him hard and fast.

He rests on top of her for a moment, listening to her little satisfied whimpers. Rolling to his side, he holds her tightly so she stays right next to him. 

He finally speaks a breathless noise, something like, "Wuh," definitely an approving sound although not quite a word.

She nods and hums her agreement, her head on his chest, listening to the thudding sound of his heart beneath her ear.

Omera’s too contentedly satisfied to say much else, feeling the way he touches her still, his fingers dragging feathery strokes up and down her spine while his other hand holds onto her hip in a firmer, slightly possessive way.

After a lengthy silence, he finally speaks, “Say something.”

Her head lifts, and she rests her chin on her hand where it sits on his chest. He looks more concerned now than he did before all of this, and she decidedly less worried.

She considers for a moment and says, “Can we do that again some time?"

"Yes."

"And again...and again…”

He nods, holding her face as he kisses her forehead, "Definitely."

* * *

Din wakes in unfamiliar circumstances (something that seems to happen a lot these days). His hand is tingly from lack of circulation because he’s still holding Omera, who is lying on his arm. Nothing in the world is covering him except her body. Her head is still on his chest, her leg and arm still draped across him. He lifts her a little so she’s resting on his body rather than just his arm, and shakes his hand so he can feel it again. 

She makes a little contented sound as she snuggles back into a comfortable position, and he feels such a sense of joy that he could almost laugh, but remains quiet. He’s so happy here, he doesn't want to think about anything that exists beyond this covert. No, for once in his life, he feels free and loved. While he’ll soon have to address all that’s going on in the outside world, this isn't the time for that. For now he’s going to enjoy the gorgeous, warm, kind being curled up on top of him. 

She told him just before they fell asleep that she’d have to go back to her room, but sleep seems to have claimed her before she could follow through with that. He’s pleased that she’s still here with him for now. 

Knowing that she wants to go before they’re caught, he will wake her. Eventually. It’s taken him his entire life to find and be with someone he could wake up with like this, without a care or a piece of beskar between them. She wakes though, shifting, also a little disoriented from a circumstance that isn’t typical for her. When she sees him, she looks pleased to find him there as well, but she pushes herself up to leave as she says, “I was supposed to go to my room.”

He pulls her back, countering, “No one else will be up for a while yet. Stay.”

Moving off of him and rolling on her side, she faces him as he faces her. She reaches up, her fingertip meeting the divet above his lip in the center of his mustache. She touches his chin, his jaw, showing remarkable affection with only one fingertip.

She shivers now that there’s a little space between them and she’s not as warmed by his body. He brings her close to him again, tugging a blanket over them. His instincts to care for and protect this woman are more powerful than he ever imagined they’d be. 

Omera gives him a mischievous smile as her hands slip under the blanket and she starts touching him again, tempting his body with hers.

* * *

Omera wakes the next morning in her own bed, confronted by too much silence. She only crept back there in the early hours of the morning, waiting until Din was asleep because she knew he would have convinced her to stay if he had been awake. The previous night plays in her mind, their lusty and passionate first time, then the patient, deep, connected follow-up where she came so hard it felt like it took forever to recover. As wonderful as it was, she's already wondering how to turn one night into another, and another. 

But there are things that must be done, people to care for, meals to make. She hurries up and dresses, never sleeping so far into the light hours back at home. 

Din's room is empty, and the younger ones are nowhere to be found. Her first reaction is fear that something terrible has happened, but as she goes to the common rooms and looks outside, she sees Winta and Grogu out there, her daughter smiling as she seems to so often with her companion. Omera is certain Din wouldn’t allow them out there alone, so he must be somewhere near them.

She joins them, finding the harsh winds that had blown since their arrival have faded, and everything outside is calm and bright. Din is standing over a large fire, with strips of meat hung out of the reach of the flame to dry so they're preserved. Of course he’s back in full dress, armored, helmetted, and official. He sits down by the fire, stamping out a bit of burning ember that threatens to catch the grasses that aren’t yet cleared. 

Directly over the fire, there’s a large black pot hung at the center. Omera walks over to him, noting pleasant aromas. He turns toward her, and she can’t see his face, nor does he give any indication of what he’s thinking. Finally he says, "You were tired,” and she can hear the proud smirk at the end. 

She shakes her head, “You should have woken me this morning.”

“Why?” he asks. “You should be able to rest sometimes, too.”

He looks out at the younger ones as they goof off, both laughing as Grogu tries to teach Winta some sort of evasive move that she’s clearly not mastering. 

He adds, “You know...if you wanted me to wake you, you should have stayed in my bed.”

“I wasn’t sure if I should.”

“I asked you to stay many times,” he reminds, again with that playful edge to his voice.

“What if they realized I was in your room?” 

“We could tell them we were changing filters again,” he teases.

“You’re in a good mood,” she notes.

He nods. “I am.”

Winta and Grogu see Omera has joined them, and hurry over to pick a few fruits and bring them to her. 

“Mando said these are safe to eat. They taste like the ones from home,” Winta says, handing her a berry.

“Mm, they do,” Omera agrees, taking another.

“Can you make those pies?”

“Should be able to come up with something,” Omera says, mentally considering the supplies they have stored away.

Grogu sneaks over toward the pot of food above the fire, and Din sighs, “Not yet,” in a way that makes Omera wonder how many times he's had to say it.

“Did you know Mando could cook?” Winta asks.

“I didn’t know that,” Omera replies, walking over and taking the iron hook to lift the heavy lid from the pot as Grogu looks on. She’s genuinely surprised by how delicious it looks and smells. “You made this?”

Din nods. “Most of the places I’ve stayed over the years didn’t include a comfortable place to sleep, or a hostess who’s welcoming and can cook like you. Often, if I want to eat, I’m on my own.” 

Grogu sits next to him, looking up and nodding his agreement. “Had you help this time,” he reminds.

“I did.”

Winta says, “Yea, he got us out of bed at dawn. Then he killed it and made us drag it back.”

“Work is good for you,” Din notes, looking at Omera, and she can imagine the expression behind the mask.

She feels her skin flush a little at the thought of the younger ones sleeping early, giving her and Din time alone again later. She clears her throat and says, “If you want pies, I’ll need more berries than this.”

Grogu and Winta hurry off toward the bushes in the distance again. 

Omera sits next to Din and says, “I can’t believe you had the energy to get up early and go hunting.”

“Yea,” he replies without elaboration.

So she pushes, “Is everything okay?”

He says, reassurance in his voice, “Better than okay. I woke up, started thinking about you. About how much I wished you were still next to me. After that, I couldn’t get back to sleep.”

She smiles regretfully at him. “Sorry.” 

“So I did what I always do when I’m feeling like that. I got up and kept busy.”

She leans back, her hands planted in the grass behind her, and he does the same just so he can touch her fingers where no one else will see. 

They're together, silent for a bit although it isn't at all awkward. 

Sounding almost like he’s disappointed in himself, he eventually confesses, “I went years and years without being with someone else, and I was content enough like that.”

“Me too,” she agrees. 

“But now I can’t seem to wait a few hours to be with you again.”

She turns to him, staring into his visor, nodding. Seductively, she whispers, “We are going to have the best maintained filters of any sector.”

Her words actually make him laugh, an audible, happy sound, and it fills her with such joy to hear.

“Mama, is this enough?” Winta yells, holding up their container of fruit.

“Not quite,” Omera shouts back, and Din chuckles again at her attempt to keep them working.

“They’re happy here,” she says to Din.

“Yes. They are,” he agrees.

“Are you?”

“Very much so.” He seems hesitant to ask, but does, "And you?"

Omera replies, thoughtfully, “I hope there are bounties on our heads for a very long time. I'm not ready to leave this place.”  
  



	6. Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I had a massive migraine and couldn't finish proofing it. I appreciate your patience. Thank you so much to all of the read/comments/likes!

**Part VI: Steps**

As Din walks through their compound one morning a few days later, everything he senses around him makes him realize just how much he doesn’t want their time here to end. These four completely changed the feel of a typically austere Mandalorian covert, even though none of them arrived with many valuables or possessions. The common rooms are warmer, with blankets and the games the younger ones made with scraps. There is laughter in these halls, passion behind the closed doors, and genuine care between the inhabitants. 

Of course there are jobs to be done, but each contributes, and there is time for leisure, too. Each day they take meals together (except for Din, who sits with them but eats later). The previous members of this covert would have each retreated to their rooms to eat alone, as Din had been raised. This particular covert was known for a strictness similar to the one he’d been part of. And the kitchen, oh the smells of that kitchen, and the warm meals and spices Omera often uses, combined with the things gathered or hunted around them. Meals aren’t just for survival here; they’re to be savored and enjoyed.

He finds Omera in the kitchen on this day, and she clearly believes she is alone. He tips his helmet up just enough to smell the food, warmly spiced, almost as enticing as the chef. She stands near the indoor cooktop, softly singing a song. It reminds him of his youth, and the songs he would hear as a child when he lived with his family.

He steps further into the cantine, listening to her, enjoying the sound of her voice and this glimpse of her when she thinks no one can see her. 

He looks around for the younger ones, and since he doesn’t see or hear them near, he needs to steal a quick moment with her, the briefest chance to hold her in the middle of the day. His affection for her demands it. He steps up behind her, reaching his hand around her waist to her stomach, expecting her to fall back into his embrace.

Omera is startled, though, and pushes away from whoever is behind her. She spins around, sending a pot clamouring to the floor, swinging at him, and he quickly ducks, a skill so well ingrained it’s almost instinctual at this point. As he lifts back to full height, he wraps an arm around her arms to prevent her from attempting to strike again. Usually such a move would end with his opponent flying against a wall or to the ground, but instead he turns her toward him and keeps her close, absorbing the momentum until she realizes it’s him. 

“Remind me not to startle you,” he says as she starts to laugh nervously, diffusing her momentary worry.

“You are very fast,” she compliments, working her arms free and wrapping them around his neck. “Will you teach me how to do that?”

“I think I’d enjoy that,” he replies, considering thoughts of the two of them ‘sparring’ together as they sort of sway back and forth almost imperceptibly.

They’re so caught up in their little exchange that they pay little mind to those who are running toward the noises they heard. Winta and Grogu come into the cantine, Winta asking, “Are you alright?” before she pauses at the sight of the two adults in a loose embrace.

There’s a bit of hesitation, a moment or two where they resist separation, while Omera stays in his arms and he in hers. 

Omera pulls back first (although she still has one hand on his back) and says, “Everything’s fine.”

“I startled her,” Din explains.

“And I knocked the pot over.”

“She was singing,” he adds, like that explains everything, but the confused looks of those around him make him realize how that response didn’t really help anything.

“This song...made you startle her?” Grogu asks.

Winta continues, "By dancing with her?”

At that, Omera pulls the rest of the way back, withdrawing her arm as she says, “Don’t be ridiculous. You two go pull in the clothing if it’s dry, then wash for dinner.”

Din picks up the pot that hit the floor, waiting to see her reaction. Omera does not want the younger ones to know yet about this new relationship they have, so he’s not sure if she’ll be upset that they were seen in an embrace, even though by the standards of everything else they’ve been up to, a simple embrace is quite wholesome. 

He isn’t sure what sorts of courting customs are common practice on Sorgan, or if she wishes to adhere to them. He certainly didn’t learn any himself. For his part, the choice to be together is simple, and has already been made. After all, she’s the one woman worth adapting his entire way of life for. For him, that alone is proof that he’s chosen her. But he knows enough to realize some cultures have rituals and customs that must be followed. Although she doesn’t _seem_ concerned with things like that. 

Once she confirms they’re alone, she grabs him by the elbow and yanks him through to one of the food storage closets, one of the many dark corners with doors that they’ve found where they can sneak away to in order to share a moment alone. 

His helmet is off in seconds, her fingers climbing up the back of his hair as her lips crash into his and he sighs both at the feeling of her and in relief that she definitely does not seem to be upset. “I can’t wait for tonight,” she pants in the few seconds that their lips aren’t touching. 

“Me too,” he bobs his head, his lips travelling down her neck, exciting her in the ways he has studied and learned, knowing them to be effective. Her back arches and she pushes her body toward his.

“You know…” he says as she is starting to melt into his embrace, right on the edge of convincing her to do just about anything as he continues “...I like our nights together.”

“Me too.”

“If I had one complaint…”

“Complaint?” she pulls back a little.

“You leave way too soon. I miss having you there in the mornings.”

“I do, too,” she replies like there’s nothing that can be done to correct this.

“I’m particularly energetic around dawn.”

“Early riser?” she jokes.

He smirks as he looks back at her again, “Would be a nice way to start the day.”

“After the nights we spend, you still wake up and want more?”

“I do, yea. A lot of lost time to make up for.” He’s thoroughly hooked on the things they do. He’s never had the same partner so many times, never had the ability to really get to know someone, to practice, to learn likes and dislikes and have them learn his. And, deep down, it’s just _her_ he wants. All of the time.

“Unless any of the rooms have connecting doors between them—”

“My Darksaber could cut a hole between our rooms. It can cut through anything.”

“That seems a little extreme—”

“I give it serious consideration every time you leave and again in the morning when I wake.”

Her hand caresses his cheek in this adoring way and she says, “Din, I…” in this way that’s so filled with emotion and promise, and he wants to hear whatever it is that comes next. But she shakes her head and pulls away, and she says, “I should go before the younger ones return.” She delicately presses a kiss to his lips, a little peck that’s sweet and tender before she retreats. “We’ll try to come up with something.”

* * *

Later that day, Din and Winta are working on rewiring and reconditioning a series of battery relay packs for the ship, part of the mechanical training he’s giving her. She’s an adept student, and he finds he enjoys teaching her, for the most part. 

They’re working on the outside of the ship at an access panel while Grogu and Omera search for eggs and herbs nearby. Din pauses in his work for a moment, seeing the pair and the way Grogu has become so attached to Omera. He thinks his son enjoys the maternal presence, and the way Omera can have long, quiet conversations with him, and offer a gentle hug or pat on the shoulder that he’s not quite as adept at giving the Child. After all, Grogu’s early years don’t seem to have been filled with parental attention.

Those two take a seat in the grassy meadow nearby. Grogu sits, facing Omera, and the pair grow silent and still as they do. Din isn’t sure what they’re doing, perhaps meditating, or something like that. Grogu often goes into periods of contemplation and relaxation. 

Winta notices Din watching the other two in the distance, and asks a question about one particularly frayed wire, reminding him to continue their work. He turns his attention back to her.

She often asks questions about the work they’re doing, but today when Winta speaks, she appears to have an agenda. “Do you have any idea how many men have tried to win my mother’s favor?”

“Many, I’d imagine,” Din replies evenly. He takes out a rewiring tool and hands it to her, “Use this one. Yours is too dull.” He sharpens the duller one after she gives it to him.

“Thanks,” she replies, continuing her work. But then she’s back to the last topic again, much to Din’s disappointment. “Some of them could have made her life so much easier...so she could have had days that were more than farming krill and serving others.” She looks to Din for a reply, but when he doesn’t offer one, she says, “She turned them all away for as long as I remember.”

He points to the exposed wire, determined to keep her on track, and he says, “Now thread this connector through, and solder this piece to that one.”

She pauses, the crackle of the soldering tool hissing until the connection is made. As soon as the hissing stops, she continues, “She’s kind, but she doesn’t trust others. Doesn’t let them close to her.” 

“It’s important to be careful who you trust.”

“Did you know my father died?”

“Your mother is a widow, so that makes sense,” he deflects.

“She has never said a single unkind word to me about my father. When I was little, I imagined he used to be a Jedi, or an explorer, or a captain of the best ship in the galaxy, she never told me I was wrong. I’d brag about him to everyone. She let me imagine whatever I wanted.”

Trying to stay on task and avoid breaking Omera’s confidences, Din continues, “The red wire always goes into the upper contact point. That’s important.”

Winta follows the directions as she continues, “One time when I was really mad at her, I told her I wished he was alive instead of her, that I wanted to be off somewhere having adventures with him instead of stuck in a krill pond.” Din sees the deep regret on the young woman's face. “It was a terrible thing to say. I regretted it as soon as I said it.”

“People say things when they’re angry. That’s why sometimes it’s best to be silent,” he encourages.

Winta does not take the hint. “After I said that, my grandmother told me about who he really was. They were away with a rescue group, or something like that. My mother realized they weren’t who they pretended to be.”

The connector in Din’s hand fractures under his grip, pieces flying. “You have to remove all of the corrosion before reconnecting those,” he points at the battery. 

“I am!” she argues. Winta’s already decided she’s going to say what she must. “She trusted my father, told him what she found out about the group, and that she was going to have a baby, me, and asked him to leave with her. He promised he’d leave if she just helped with one last mission. But he betrayed her, left her to die. His cause was more important than her. I don’t understand how someone could do that to her.”

Rage, true rage, boils within him, but he stays calm. “Neither do I.”

She keeps working, diligently, carefully, as he watches. Talking doesn’t slow her down in the least. She adds, “After all that...well if she trusts someone...they must _really_ be worth trusting.”

Winta pauses, looking right at him, punctuating her point. And she seems suddenly bold and self-assured, staring into a visor that has made others feel terror. “I really hope if she ever does find someone she trusts, that they’re worth trusting...that they wouldn't do anything to break that trust.”

He nods. “You’ll have to trust her judgment,” he counters. “When you’re done with the red, start threading the blue ones through the lower contact point.” 

Winta continues working, then when she’s done with a second full set of batteries, she says, “You probably think I’m just some weak child.”

“I don’t think that.”

“I would do anything to protect my mother.”

Din stares and replies seriously, “I know you would. But you don’t have to do it alone.”

Winta smiles approvingly, nodding like she believes that to be true. The chattiness that possessed her calms as they go back to work, and they find their usual back and forth of questions, instructions, and work until the task is complete and they test it out to make sure it’s working properly.

As they close the access panels to finish up for the day, she says, “Mando?”

“Din. Djarin,” he says, feeling a bond with this young woman who stands so fiercely for her mother. She is brave.

“What does that mean?”

He chuckles, “What you mean what does it mean? It’s my name.”

“Oh,” she seems thoroughly surprised. “I can call you that? Din Djarin?”

“Din is fine. Or Mando,” he affirms. “Unless there are outsiders. I don’t tell most beings my name. But when it’s just us four, sure.”

As honored as she seems to be to know this, she says as they walk back, “So, Din...what happens when we leave this place? When the bounties are gone? What happens to my mother and me? You just drop us off on Sorgan and go back to your old life?” She is also very persistent.

“Depends on what you and your mother want to do.”

“Does it?” the young woman asks. Finally she says, “The first time you visited us...it wasn’t our choice for you to leave.”

* * *

Din and his son go hunting late the next morning. It seems the pair don’t have much time on their own lately, so Grogu returns to his beskar pouch on Din’s back. They choose to stalk one particularly delicious looking bird that Grogu wanted to find, and end up walking far into the surrounding woods after it. Finally the two sit in a tree and wait, watching the behavior of the birds.

In truth, Din could have killed one long before, but he and his Foundling seem to be enjoying their hunt, and when Grogu asks about the goings on on Mandalore, Din shares a good deal with him.

Finally he asks his son, “You don’t miss your training?”

Grogu shakes his head. He sighs thoughtfully and says, “Much to teach, had Master Luke.”

“Do you want to go back?”

“No.”

“You don’t miss being with those like you?”

“Like me, they were not. Feared me, many did.”

“Feared you?”

“Powerful, I am,” Grogu admits as humbly as one can say such a thing.

“I know.”

“More than most. Caused fear, distrust, jealousy.” 

“Just because you’re powerful doesn’t mean you should be feared.”

“Never this happens to you? Hmm? Those who fear you. Your power?”

“Well...that’s different.”

“Not different.”

“Your master Jedi should take care of that.”

“Parents, too, of others, feared my presence. Still hunted, I was. By some allied with those who sought me before. Put others at risk. Wanted me removed. Protected me, Master Luke did. Believed in me. A distraction, I was. Much loneliness there.”

“You should have told me.”

“Not necessary.”

“I could have done something.”

“Learned what I needed, I did. Now where I belong, I am. Happy here. With you. With Winta, Omera.”

“And your training?”

“Practice still, I do. Jedi and Mandalorians, not so different, in ways. Both I can be. Can teach you to use your saber. To find peace. Much you have given me. Offer this to you, I can. Stronger our clan becomes.”

Din nods, seeing the excitement in Grogu’s eyes at the thought of sharing his knowledge. Grogu has offered before, but this time Din agrees, “I could probably use some practice with it."

“Yes,” Grogu says, pleased.

Winta’s questions about the future have been at the front of his thoughts since she asked them, and since he and Grogu are of one clan, it seems only right to consult the only other member. “What would you think if we asked Omera and Winta to join us in our travels...if they want to?”

“Care for them deeply, we do,” Grogu says with a certain nod, patting his Father's shoulder reassuringly.

Din nods his head as well. “Yes.”

“Together we should all be, if they wish.”

“Don’t say anything to Winta yet. I should talk to Omera first.”

“Yes.”

“Guess we should head back.”

“Forgot something, haven’t you? Hmmm…?” Grogu asks with a chuckle, pointing at the birds they supposedly went out to hunt. 

“Mm. You’re right,” Din replies, instantaneously producing his blaster, aiming, and hitting the bird Grogu wanted all along in a matter of a second.

* * *

That night the weather is beautiful again, the winds calm, so they build another fire outside. Din and Grogu tell a few stories of their adventures, back before Grogu could speak when they took long journeys, sometimes gathered by a fire much like this at night.

Din gets a bottle of the strong cider he and Omera drank when they were on the ship one night, and they share it as they watch the younger ones dancing and twirling under the stars until they fall into the grass. Grogu uses his powers to lift glowing coals into the air, moving them in a way that looks like a graceful fire dance as Winta watches the show. 

Omera enjoys the sight of Din, leaning back next to her, propping himself on his elbows just enough to watch the things that are going on. He rolls onto his side to face her and asks, “When it’s safe for us to leave, what do you want to do? Do you want to go back to Sorgan or—”

“Why are you asking me this?” she asks, his question raising all sorts of concerns. “Are we leaving soon?”

"I don’t think so.”

“You would like us to go back—”

He interrupts, “I need to make modifications on my ship so we’re ready whenever we need it. That’ll take some time. So I need to know if _I should_ make plans for me and my Foundling, or if _we_ _should_ be making plans for the four of us, all together.”

That definitely sounds like an excuse. She sits up straighter, hugging her knees. “I know you have things you must do back on your planet. I’m sure it’s easier to do the things you must do without having to look out for so many others, to be free to—”

He holds up his hand and shakes his head, “I like it here, ‘Mera,” using the slightly shortened version of her name that he's started using like a term of endearment, “but what I really enjoy is the company. I think I could like being almost anywhere, if you were there with me. But I don’t know what sort of life you want for you and Winta.”

He falls silent, staring into the flames as he awaits a response. 

“Winta and I...we aren’t ready to go back. She's told me that very clearly. I think we should plan together for four,” she notes brimming with excitement that she’s trying to keep subtle. She's wondered if their time together would end when they leave here. “I don’t know for certain what the future holds, but I think I could be happy almost anywhere with you, too.”

“Good,” he answers, sitting up. He scoots a little closer, then, enthusiastically (at least for him) he says, “I thought of how we could make a better sleeping space for the younger ones on the ship, if we're on a long journey—”

Omera giggles at him, and he asks, “What?”

“You sound pleased.”

“I am,” he replies certainly. He continues, “We’ll make a sleeping space for the younger ones, and a better spot for us. Because if we have to go weeks on end without time alone, I’ll lose my mind.”

She whispers softly, “Good thinking.”

A bit more somberly, he adds, “There are some things I’ll have to take care of, eventually.”

“I realize that. We will come with you, if you want us to.”

They sit quietly, ideas flying through their heads, and when he speaks again, he addresses something she said a little earlier. “It’s not easier for me on my own. Together we're stronger. My life is far better with you in it.”

An idea strikes her, and she stands up and reaches out a hand for him. With a little disappointment, he says, “I figured we’d stay here at the covert a bit longer, you want to leave now?”

She shakes her head, insistently reextending her hand. “Stand.”

He takes it and does as she said. “What are we doing?”

“Dancing,” she says, holding out her arms to welcome him.

“Why?”

“Because I’m happy, and I’d like to dance with you.” 

“We have an audience,” he says in the direction of the younger ones.

“It isn’t salacious. It’s just dancing,” she chuckles, less worried about discovery.

“I’ve never danced before,” he admits, although he faces her, preparing for this.

Placing his hand at her waist and holding the other in her hand, she says, “You teach me to fight, and I’ll teach you to dance.”

He sighs a little, but she ignores it. She starts to hum the song she’d sung in the cantine, the one that had captured his attention. 

She gives instructions, enjoying this excuse to be near him. 

After a moment or two, Winta calls out, “Mama?” and both adults are prepared for the interruption to end this moment too soon, but she says, “We’re tired. Do you mind if we go in for the night?”

“Very tired, yes,” Grogu agrees.

“Oh,” Omera says, “of course.” She steps back from Din to accompany them, his arms remaining open like she should still be there.

Winta says, “Stay and finish your lesson, Mama. We’re fine on our own. G'night.”

“Yes, night,” Grogu says warmly, the younger ones going inside, whispering as they go. 

Omera, thinking things through, asks, “She didn’t look upset, did she?”

“I don’t think so,” he answers as he places his hands back on her as he’d been shown. He had been hesitant to do this at first, but now he's the one insisting they continue. 

“No. I was concerned she’d be—” Omera stops when some music plays over the communication system. She chuckles. “How did they do that?”

“Probably the HoloNet,” he replies, pulling her a little closer. “What do I do next?”

“Huh?” she asks, distracted.

“Hey,” he says sharply to get her attention, “we’re outside, alone, dancing under a perfectly clear starry night beside a glowing fire. We should enjoy it while it lasts.”

“Yes,” she replies, “of course.”

“So, what do I do next? The dancing…”

Her eyes lift to him, back to their affectionate stare, and she sways a little more. “Feel for a moment. Feel the music, the beat, the tune. The way the music wants you to move. Then feel your partner. The way she moves, how she wants you to move.”

“I can do that,” he whispers, his hand moving up her back to the center, her fingers gently stroking the thin line at the back of his neck that she can touch while he’s fully in gear. 

She laughs and he asks, “Did I do something funny?”

“No...look,” she turns him slightly, “window…”

He chuckles, too, when he sees the young ones peering out at them before they hurriedly disappear to their rooms. 

“I get the feeling that they approve of us,” he says.

"A strange pair of matchmakers."

"They're a little late for that. But I prefer that to constant interruptions."

“Agreed. Grogu would be okay with you dancing with a Sith if it meant he could stay with Winta,” she replies.

“That’s not true,” he says. “They’re both very protective of us. Winta had a talk with me earlier.”

“Oh no. I'm sorry." 

“Don't be. She's brave," he compliments. "She just wants to make sure I know how fortunate I am.”

“Oh!’’ she exclaims as she remembers her talk with Grogu in the meadow. “I think Grogu was doing the same with me about you, but I didn’t really think about it at the time.”

“I’m sure he knows how we feel.” Din says apologetically, “Goes with the territory when you have a Foundling who possesses powers you can scarcely comprehend.”

She moves a little closer to him as the two finish the first song. But the next one has a slightly faster tempo, so she moves his hands and shows him a different style.

After a time, her voice betraying how this dancing makes her feel, she says, “Dancing isn’t all that different from things you know how to do very well. I’ve seen you fight, and I’ve felt how you fuck…” she pauses, letting that word sink in, a word that she usually reserves for passionate encounters and doesn’t throw around casually. She knows it hits him. After a beat or two, she adds, “So I knew you could dance.”

“This is the same as fighting and fucking?” he asks, amused, but his tone, too, betraying his underlying feelings.

“Not the same, but similar in ways. There are different styles of all three. You learn some basic moves. You practice, find the ones you like, the ones that work best. You figure out a few special moves to call upon when they’re needed…” she steps back only the slightest, moving like her hips are leading a smaller dance while she’s still in his arms.

He hums approvingly, the hand on her back moving to her hip to feel the motion. 

“Good,” she says, “the next part is responding to whoever is opposite you. But it seems you already knew that.”

“Just wanted to feel your hips moving.”

“You’re still responding, and that’s what I was saying. You figure out what your partner is going to do. Do you accept that, counter, move with it or against, or take your own action.”

“Don’t go anywhere,” he says as he hurries away, walking quickly to the main door to the covert and closing it by punching in the access code so those inside are safe just in case someone should happen to find their covert, although the chances of that without sensors going off are close to none. The door creaks and rumbles as it shuts. 

He comes back to her, pulling her away from the fire toward the relative darkness on the side of the covert so they have some privacy. He frees his head and arms from armor and hands from gloves. She really loves his frequent insistence on touching her with bare hands. His eyes close as the gentle breeze hits his face, then he gives her that little half smile that she cannot resist.

“They might see you if they come out,” Omera notes, although she prefers the thought of his face beside hers when dancing.

“We’ll hear the door,” he replies. “Besides, it’s pretty dark over here.”

He comes back to her, more easily finding their dancing postures, and he moves close, his face next to hers, his thumb caressing the hand that he holds. “See, there are some notable differences,” he says, his lips near her ear.

“What?” she asks, her face pressing closer to his, thinking of the many times they’ve been close like this in recent days.

“When fighting, I'm grateful to be wearing my armor. With you, dancing close like this, I’d prefer not to be wearing all this.”

She chuckles, her hands sliding to his hips to show him how to move to this song the way she is. He follows well under her guidance. His ability to pick up on cues serves him almost as well as a dancer as it does a lover or a fighter. 

The song changes again, something more soulful, slower, and she comes in close, one arm around his neck, the other on his waist to feel the way he moves, too. 

Her face beside his, the intimacy and emotion between them permeating the moment, she says, “I suppose I’m not very good at hiding how I feel about you. I didn’t think anyone would notice, but everyone noticed.”

“Glad I noticed,” he counters, his arm pulling her in tight. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t try to hide. I mean...a few things will still remain private.”

“Certainly.”

“But I mean...we don’t have to hide the fact that we’re…”

He tilts his head, looking into her eyes, and waits. And she’s done this to him before, refused to fill in blanks to make him finish whatever thought he started. “We’re…” he prompts, waiting.

“That we’re in love,” she replies, feeling a sense of vulnerability that terrifies her in some ways. More so even than when she’d kissed him, back when she wasn’t sure if he’d allow that. “At least I am,” she corrects.

“ _We_ are,” he clarifies devotedly. “We definitely are.”


End file.
